


Ultima Thule

by wrongwayco



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongwayco/pseuds/wrongwayco
Summary: Emma could remember fingers tangled in her curls, the weight of a hand settling on the small of her back, a smile meant only for her eyes. To have a soft kiss pressed against her lips, tentative and sweet, to share each other’s breath. Emma knew what it was to have someone by her side, until he’d been taken away.She’s spent near to half her life watching the horizon line, waiting for the tides to bring back what the sea once claimed.Killian looked down at his hands, stained crimson with his brother’s blood, before staring across the deck as the pirate ship left his shattered world in its wake, and wondered what they could possibly have stood to gain from his loss.He’s lost everything, his family, his love, even his hand. The one thing he believes he can- no, will - get back is his ship.If no one else would do anything, Henry certainly would. He was going to save his mother, and the way Henry saw it, there was only one person in the entirety of Fort Charles that could possibly help him. Someone who had nothing to lose but his life, and everything to gain.He doesn’t know much about the world beyond the stories he reads, but he’s determined to save the person he loves most.





	1. Prologue: Dark is the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I started to think this day wasn’t going to come, to be honest, and this story would be lost to the depths of my computer forever, but here it is. Thanks a bunch to my awesome beta, huffleporg , for fixing my run on sentences and teaching me the difference between a lobotomy and trepanation. This story wouldn’t be the same without you. Endless gratitude to Ady, for stepping in at quite literally the last minute to provide gorgeous art that brought my words to life. Thanks to the Captain Swan Big Bang crew, for running this event and just generally being awesome, and most importantly, to those of you who choose to read my story. We wouldn’t be writers without someone to share words with.
> 
> hooksandblakes on tumblr.

Killian was always up with the sun.

His mother used to tease him, with that same fond, loving smile she always wore for him and his brother. She would say that most young boys would still be asleep so early in the day, but he loved to follow her on her morning errands around the town, and he remembered her always indulging him - tangling her fingers with his as he walked with her through the garden, allowing him to hold onto her skirts as she stopped to visit at merchant stalls. He could easily recall her always being after him to wear his shoes. He had always been so eager to just  _go_ , that he rarely remembered on his own.

He’d forgotten them again that morning as he made his hasty exit, flying from the kitchen door. He knew he’d regret it, and soon; the rough hewn cobblestones met the insistent pounding of his steps with an unforgivable force, and if the stinging soles of his feet had anything to say about it, he’d be walking with a limp for the rest of the afternoon.

The thought didn’t slow him down. If anything, he ran harder, slipping around merchants and other obstacles like a fish darting against the river’s current of early morning traffic. He looked out at the horizon, the rising sun bringing the tall masts and sails of the ships dotting the harbor into sharp relief and, despite the fact that his lungs were burning, he kept running.

_Almost there._

He’d lost his mother five years ago, almost to the day, he was certain. She’d passed when the flowers in her garden were just beginning to peek out of their buds, wary of any remaining vestiges of winter’s chill, and Killian had stubbornly kept her flowers growing in her absence. She’d planted the bright yellow daffodils for Liam’s birth, fragrant honeysuckle bushes for Killian’s - and in honor of his mother, Killian grew roses, the soft pink ones she’d favored. She’d asked to see her flowers the day she died, and he remembered all too well bringing her a ragged bouquet of barely-there blooms, placing them down on the bed beside her and clutching at her hand, basking in the weak smile she gifted him with. He’d counted her breaths until her chest stopped rising.

He remembered Liam’s hands on his shoulders, drawing him out of the room when the doctor arrived to take her away, and his brother tugging him close and holding on tight as he’d tried to wrestle free, screaming for his mother.

He’d suffered nightmares for a long time after. His papa would come to his cries and sit by his bedside. He would light the nearest lantern and stay until Killian managed to fall back asleep, and while his father was usually gone by morning, due at the docks before sunrise, the lantern gleamed, dulling slowly as the sun rose over the hill to outshine its soft, flickering light.

That morning he’d woken up to an unlit lantern, his father’s silver signet ring on a chain, and a very short note of apology.

Killian dropped down a retaining wall that reached up to his chest, stumbling only slightly before regaining his footing, and his pace. The docks were coming quickly into view, and he knew if he could make it in time, he could stop his papa from leaving.

Maybe his father was still angry with him, for not wanting to follow Liam in to the blacksmith’s shop for an apprenticeship. Perhaps Killian had misunderstood Papa’s messy scrawl, and he’d only be gone for a short time. Whatever the explanation - and he, with all the stubbornness and certainty of a ten year old, was sure there was a better one - he knew his papa wouldn’t just leave him and his brother behind.

His feet hit the wooden planks of the dock his father most often worked on, his hurried steps echoing as he raced down the walkway. With every rapid breath he drew in salt and sea spray, and any other day it might have comforted him.

Distantly, he heard voices start to call out to him as he sprinted past - someone with a simple, “hey!”, and someone else with his name.

He turned the corner, nearly losing his footing, and stopped. He doubled over, hands braced on his knees to keep him upright, and panted.

The small fishing vessel his father had kept running for years was not tied to its post.

“Jones is gone, boy. Up and left for higher seas, I take it,” the gruff voice came from a man to his left, crouched down next to a fishing trap to check his haul.

Killian looked out to the sea, bringing his hand up to his brow to scan the horizon, his breathing harsh and ragged. He could see the silhouette of a small boat, past Port Royal’s cove, headed out into deeper water.

_Don’t leave me, too._

The sun finally breached the sky and left the water line in its wake, sending light sparkling across the calm waters of the bay. Without another thought, Killian straightened up and sprinted to the very end of the dock, and dove into the sea.

* * *

 

Emma hated mornings.

Mist rose off the water, shining in the light of early dawn as she walked towards the harbor at her father’s side. She tried not to fidget and pick at the green satin of her dress, but her shoes were not comfortable for walking on the rough cobblestones that led to the docks, and her braids were too tight, making her scalp feel itchy. All she wanted was to be back in her bed.

Since her mother’s death four years prior - a day Emma could hardly remember, try as she might - her father always made an effort to be present. Emma loved him for it, surely, but, at eight years old, she vastly preferred visiting the horses in the stables to sitting quietly next to her father in meetings with his officers, and she could easily think of a handful of things she’d rather be doing instead of trailing along behind her father and Lieutenant Walsh. Sleeping was among the top three.

Her maids always teased her, for not being one to rise with the sun, when they came into her chambers to wake and dress her for the day. She’d grumble and scowl as they laced her gown just a touch too tightly and twisted ribbons into her fine golden hair, but she accepted their affectionate pats and kind words as they inevitably shooed her from her bedroom. She was the only child of Port Royal’s Governor, and because she’d lost her mother too young, she was always doted on accordingly.

Emma tuned out her father and the lieutenant’s conversation as soon as he’d joined them - uninvited, Emma thought, with only a trace amount of bitterness - on their morning stroll, and though it had surely only been a few moments, it felt like hours.

With a glance up at the men in front of her, she saw they paid her no mind, and quietly stole away.

She slipped out of her shoes and stepped off the path, her toes pointed towards the sea, wiggling in the dew-damp grass. Her governess would surely lose her temper if she caught Emma running around on bare feet, and the thought had her lips quirking up into a smile.

She could dip her feet in the water, and no one would even know.

After a quick look over her shoulder in her father’s direction, Emma turned away and scaled down the small embankment that separated her from her goal. She put a hand to her brow to block out the rising sun as she scanned the docks, and caught sight of someone running.

A boy, she thought, and one that looked to be not much older than herself.

Curiosity got the better of her and, without even pausing to think of where he might be running off to and why, Emma bunched her skirts in her fists and followed him.

“Hey!” she called out, trying to get his attention, but no one paid her any mind.

_As usual._

Emma bustled after him, her feet slapping against the docks, but she ignored the sting of splintering wood and looked back up in time to see the sun crest the horizon, and the boy, lit by the dawn, diving headfirst off the end of the pier and plummeting into the sea.

Emma blinked, momentarily stunned, before spinning around and yelling for her father.

* * *

 

In all the fuss of hauling the boy from the sea’s grasp, in between calling for a carriage and a barrage of unanswered questions, Emma ended up in the back of her father’s carriage, swaying slightly with the motion, with the unconscious boy’s head pillowed against her skirts.

 _“Take the boy back to the manor, let Mrs. Lucas tend to him,”_ her father had said, before turning to her,  _“he’ll be in your charge, Emma, until we can find out where he belongs.”_

The town of Port Royal scrolled past her outside the carriage windows, but while she usually loved to look at the view, she had a mystery far more interesting to ponder right in front of her. Emma pushed the boy’s wet hair from his face, studying his features with a decisive frown. She wondered if she’d seen him before, but couldn’t be certain.

Her earlier guess had been correct; he was close to her in age, perhaps only a few years her senior. His skin was tanned from the sun and his nose kissed with a light smattering of freckles. She carefully touched a finger to his eyelid and lifted it, revealing blue irises. His face twisted into a scowl at her ministrations, a crease marring his forehead and dark brows drawing low. He tried to roll away, but Emma held a hand to his shoulder to keep him in place on the bench.

“Liam, no,” he grumbled, but his eyes stayed closed, and he said nothing else.

Emma wondered who Liam was, but doubted she’d get an answer. She waited a few moments, but when the boy showed no other signs of waking, she continued her explorations.

She tugged on the chain that hung from his neck, pulling it loose from his shirt collar and up over his head, and held the necklace flat in her palm to investigate. A thick silver ring hung from the chain, and Emma drew it closer to study the symbols that decorated the band, her brows drawing together as she squinted.

Her eyes flew wide when she realized she was looking at a skull.

The carriage lurched to a stop, startling her, and Emma stuffed the ring into the bodice of her corset, schooling her features into something she hoped resembled innocence as the footman opened the door and ushered her inside.

* * *

After a perfunctory check of the boy’s limbs and vitals, Granny decided that he’d simply swallowed too much sea water, had likely bumped his head in all his thrashing during his rescue, and briskly left him under Emma supervision while she went to find out if there was a Liam living in town that the boy belonged to. Emma frowned after her governess, wondering if perhaps the boy should see a doctor, but no one seemed overly concerned. She adjusted her skirts and settled down on the lounge next to him to wait. She looked down at her charge and slipped her fingers into his, squeezing his palm for a moment, before thinking better of it and withdrawing her hand hastily, as though his were a snake poised to strike.

She sat in silence for a few moments, but after quickly growing bored, Emma continued to poke and prod at him, uncertain what else she’d be expected to do.

What felt like hours after Granny had left them, the boy opened his eyes, and Emma gasped.

He blinked a few times before meeting her stare, one eyebrow arching upwards. “Are you a mermaid?”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she wondered if he’d possibly hit his head a little harder than they’d assumed. “Do I look like a mermaid?”

He shrugged one shoulder, his voice hoarse when he answered. “You’ve got pretty hair.”

Emma tried not to smile as she lifted a hand to her neglected braid, certain her hair was wildly escaping it in all the morning’s excitement. “Do you have a name?”

“Killian Jones,” he replied, pushing up onto his elbows to sit up next to her. “Do you?”

“Emma. Emma Swan.”

“ ‘S nice to meet you, Miss Swan.” The corners of his mouth drew up in a broad smile, and Emma found herself mirroring his grin. She watched him scan the room, a crease forming between black eyebrows as he took in his surroundings. “Where am I?”

“The Governor’s manor,” Emma reported. “You jumped off the dock into the harbor.”

Emma saw the moment he remembered, watched the smile fade from his eyes as a storm took its place, and frowned as he looked away from her, his gaze dropping to the ground. She hesitated, worried she’d offended him, and as she opened her mouth to ask what was bothering him, she heard footsteps.

“Killian!”

The voice didn’t match the boy it belonged to, in Emma’s opinion. He clearly had a few years on Killian, taller and broader, with a tangle of brown curls and black coal smudges on his hands, still a  _boy_  - but for all the concern and weariness that wrapped the stern reprimand in just the other boy’s name, Emma thought he should be much older.

She felt Killian’s shoulders hunch next to her, and was surprised by the protectiveness that surged through her at the smallest sign of his dismay. Before she could say anything, Killian got to his feet, crossing the room, but when he spoke, his voice was pleasant enough.

“Liam, hi!”

“What in the Gods’ names happened this morning?” he asked, and Emma could only describe his tone as what Granny would call ‘exasperated affection’. She watched as Liam passed a hand over Killian’s hair, his eyes raking over the smaller boy, clearly seeking any sign of injury. “They tell me you dove into the harbor and hurt yourself, why-”

Killian dropped his gaze to his bare feet, and Emma barely heard his words. “Papa left. I just- I wanted to see if I could convince him to stay.”

Emma’s heart lurched, and she could see the fight drain out of Liam in kind - his shoulders slumped, his face twisted, and his hands tightened their grip on Killian’s arms. He sighed, long and tired in the way she often heard from her father’s office.

“Hey,” he murmured, waiting until Killian lifted his eyes back to his. “You and me will be right as rain, little brother. You have my word. No more stunts like that, though, alright?”

Killian nodded, and Liam reached down for his hand. “Let’s go on home.”

“Wait!” Killian protested, untangling his fingers from his brother’s, before racing back over to Emma’s side. She sat up straighter.

Killian offered her a sad sort of smile, and Emma found herself wanting to see the real thing, the one he’d offered her before where his eyes had gleamed and the dimple in his cheek winked at her. “Thank you, Emma, for saving me.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush pink, and bit her lip to hide the quirk of her smile. “Anytime, Killian,” she murmured, and caught the faintest hint of a real grin before he spun around on his heel and ran back across the room, taking hold of his brother’s hand.

Liam met her eyes over his head and nodded, and Emma watched as the Jones brothers walked out, heads bent close, and left her in the all too quiet room alone.


	2. 1: Sail Forth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful huffleporg and CSBB, and to Ady, for creating some beautiful art. I can't wait for you to see it.

His head was throbbing.

He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, behind his eyelids, and though he resisted the immediate urge to open them and check, he was rather certain there was a chain around his right hand, and quite possibly his ankle as well.

It’d been years since Killian had last let himself fall so deeply into his cups that he couldn’t see straight and woke up in a strange place besides, and he was fairly confident he hadn’t the night before, either - if there’s one thing Captain Hook prided himself on, it was his ability to hold his rum. He wondered if perhaps the bastards hadn’t slipped him something to ascertain his accordance with their plans, however unwilling his cooperation might have been.

That rat bastard Smee was _supposed_ to be watching the door.

With a heavy sigh, he debated once more the merits to opening his eyes. He would, without a doubt, recognize the brig of the _Jolly Roger_ , which, as her rightful Captain, was a place he’d been far too often in recent years for his liking. He could almost certainly work his way out of his bindings, and perhaps even find a way quietly off the ship. He could feel the gentle rock of the water beneath him, but not so much that he thought the ship was moving - they had to still be in port. With luck on his side, he could get off without trouble, no unplanned scuffling with Captain Gold necessary.

Though he was loathe to leave his ship, and didn’t ever mind going a round or two with the Crocodile, he’d learned the hard way that such a course was fruitless, as things stood.

Destroying Captain Gold took time and careful planning, and Captain Hook was most certainly willing to play a long game.

Killian took a deep breath through his nose and finally opened his eyes. After the moment it took to adjust and for his head to stop swimming, he frowned.

He was in a brig, to be sure, but it was not the _Jolly Roger’s_.

He quickly sat up and started picking at the lock on his binds with the tip of his hook.

The scrape of the wooden door being pushed open drew his eyes upwards as a figure crossed the threshold, swathed in a familiar Naval blue jacket, black boots polished to a shine, and Killian’s eyebrows drew together, low on his forehead. He’d spent the last seven years of his life locked in a battle with Gold, and despite some truly horrific assaults - the loss of his left hand certainly ranked near the top of the list - the Crocodile had never sunk so low as to hand him over to the Royal Navy. Pirates, after all, served no crown and swore no fealty, and Killian believed that at least among thieves, there was some semblance of honor.

It must have been that fool Neal that turned him over, he realized, and scowled at the thought. He’d known better than to trust him, known better to lose his wits in the man’s presence - he’d most certainly been drugged. _Fighting battles using dirty tactics is, as you always said, bad form._ Liam’s voice echoed in his ears, and Killian found himself grunting in agreement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” the man on the other side of the bars sneered at him, “and I thought pirates could hold their liquor?”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, keeping his tone level and good-natured. “That’s usually the way of things, isn’t it.” He straightened up, waving his hook to punctuate his words. “What are to be my charges, then? Drunk and disorderly, certainly-”

The officer’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “Pirates are not tolerated in these waters,” he snapped, “and you will hang by noon tomorrow.”

“Bloody fantastic,” Killian sighed. “Why the wait, if I might ask? Is the line to the gallows a touch too long, perhaps?”

He took his satisfaction where he could, silently delighting in the way the man’s face turned an interesting shade of purple, but any coming retorts were interrupted by another man entering the room. Killian knew another Captain when he saw one and had to fight the old instinct to snap to attention. His years of falling under another’s authority were long past, ended by the violent death of the only man he would have followed to the ends of the earth.

“If it isn’t Captain Hook in my prison cell, at long last,” the newcomer spoke slowly, with a smile that might have been pleasant, had Killian found himself in any other situation.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he drawled, and felt the corners of his mouth stretch into a wide grin.

“Of course. Though I must ask, what kind of pirate doesn’t have a ship? It seems all you have to your name is a stolen sword, a poorly crafted knife, and a compass that doesn’t point north. You must be, without a doubt, the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of.”

Killian’s eyes flashed, but he kept his easy smile in place and shrugged one shoulder. “Alas, but the fact remains. I trust my effects will be handled with care?”

The Captain’s mocking smile slipped, and Killian counted it as another victory.

“Move him to the Fort’s prison,” he snapped, all good-natured bluster evaporated, “and do so quietly. The new Commodore has no desire to alarm the entire town.”

“And in what delightful little port have we landed, perchance?” Killian asked, but the Captain moved to the door and left without a word, expecting his orders to be followed in his wake.

The officer opened the door to the brig and reached in, hauling Killian out roughly, who barely managed to keep his footing. The officer dragged him after the Captain, and Killian went along quietly enough. He had no real intentions to be hanging at noon tomorrow, but he knew well to wait for the opportune moment. As they mounted the stairs and sunlight streamed down to meet him, Killian wished he could shield his eyes with his hand. He squinted against the onslaught instead. When he could finally make out the port where he was meant to die, he knew it instantly. For the first time that morning, his blood ran cold.

“Welcome to Port Royal, pirate.”

 

* * *

 

 

The clock tower over his head chimed the hour, and Henry picked up his pace, practically running across the cobblestones and dodging around crowds as the sheathed sword slapped against his thigh and his boots pounded over uneven ground. He glanced down every few seconds, making sure to keep his footing.

Brown would cuff him over the ears, to be sure. He was supposed to have the weapon delivery made before his grandfather’s meeting started, and he was a little behind schedule.

A little behind schedule meaning, of course, that the officer’s meeting had likely started five minutes prior to him noting the time, and scrambling from the forge like his behind was on fire.

Henry hadn’t intended for time to get away from him - truly, the sword was ready yesterday evening before he’d retired for the day and went home - but Master Brown had fallen asleep again and the book he’d brought along from his library was eating away at his thoughts, simply _begging_ to be picked up, and he’d had time but not enough, it would seem.

At least the book had ended well, he thought, mouth pressed into a grim line.

He wasn’t terribly worried that his grandfather would be disappointed in him. If he was caught, David would hide his smile and send Henry on his way, no real harm done. The ceremony wasn’t even until tomorrow. No, he was more concerned about what the others would say. The men that made up the Governor’s council and the officers who would frown in his direction and click their tongues in disapproval. They would cast their aspersions upon his mother, who would hold her chin up and narrow her eyes in that way that always had Henry feeling the urge to run for the hills. He knew it hurt her heart, despite what she let on.

He knew his mother loved him. She’d always tucked him close, pressing kisses to his forehead whenever he didn’t try to squirm away from her affections, always tried to shield him from the sharper edges of their life. He knew his grandfather loved him, even. But all that would not change the fact that Henry was the bastard child of the Governor’s daughter, a scandal so damning that he knew any other family might very well have sent him away to spare themselves the shame.

He knew well that, even in the thirteen years since his birth, their small town had never forgotten. People still talked about it in hushed whispers when he and his mom walked past merchant stalls. They still sighed behind their hands and mourned over how such a beautiful girl of such esteem had fallen so far, and because of it, Henry did his absolute best.

He tried to learn everything he could, to prove how smart he was. He worked as hard as he could at his apprenticeship, teaching himself how to craft all manner of tools and weaponry, repairing and polishing the officer’s swords until they gleamed in the sun. He did his best to stay quiet and out of the way when he had to visit his grandfather’s officers, and usually managed to be on time to all his deliveries, even if he arrived sweating and out of breath.

Today, it seemed, was the exception.

When he made it up to Fort Charles, he stated his business for the guards and headed for the receiving chamber outside the council room as quickly as he could, head ducked low, and laid the wrapped sword for the Commodore’s promotion ceremony carefully on his grandfather’s desk. Henry could hear voices coming from the council and quickly backed out on silent feet before anyone could realize he’d been there in the first place. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked back out into the late afternoon sun, hoping he had enough coins to buy himself and his mother a couple of pastries before he headed home.

 

 

While he stood in line at the bakery counter, dark hair plastered to his forehead from the heat of the day, Henry heard the usual whispers around him, but they were of someone else entirely. He rocked back and forth on his heels, head tilted towards the crowd, and shamelessly listened in.

“Have you heard? Tillman told me he saw them earlier, leading him right up to the Fort!”

“A pirate! In Port Royal! Can you imagine?”

“I thought those bastards knew better, that they’ll hang if they try to make port in these waters. They ought to string him up out over the cove for all to see.”

“Your usual, Master Henry?”

He blinked, startled from his eavesdropping, and turned to the sound of his name. He’d reached the front of the line without realizing. “Oh. Yes, please. And one for my mother as well,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, fishing for his payment, and flashed a bright smile.

The older man dropped him a wink and turned to his shelves, carefully wrapping Henry’s requisitions before stuffing them into a sack.

“Sir, do you know anything about the pirates?” Henry asked, and watched as the man’s shoulders stiffened.

When he whirled back around, his mouth had turned down into a disapproving frown, and Henry felt his ears heat up, wondering if perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut. “Idle folk will gossip about anything around here, my boy. It’s best not to lend them an ear,” his voice was low and gravelly. He accepted Henry’s coins and handed the small bag over the counter, and though the smell of fresh dough set his mouth watering, Henry’s curiosity got the better of him.

“But if there’s pirates in Port Royal-” Henry protested. His stammer was interrupted by the man behind him, as a rough hand clapped down on his shoulder. Henry jumped.

“Captain Harrington caught Hook! They took him up to Charles, just this morning. Saw it with my own eyes, I did. Rotten bastard’s to hang tomorrow.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Hook?”

“Nonsense,” the baker protested, waving his hand as though he could will the words away as easily, and though Henry frowned, he knew when he was being dismissed.

He took his leave and made his way through the crowd, the excited chatter swirling around him like a persistent breeze.

 _I guess we’ll see_ , he thought, _if a pirate hangs from the gallows by morning._

He wondered if his grandfather would tell him anything.

Henry tucked his parcel under his arm and made his way to the top of the hill as the sun started to set in the sky behind him. As he climbed the steps towards his family’s manor, he cast a glance back over his shoulder towards the sea.

He could see the tall masts of the docked naval ships, the usual teeming crowds of people trying to make their way to their homes after the day’s work, and the darker clouds moving in suggested a storm was brewing, but something else caught his eye.

Dark sails on the horizon.

His mother always told him he had an overactive imagination, but he thought it was all the more crazy not to believe what you could see in front of you.

Henry wondered what Navy sailed under dark colors, but shook the thought away as Ruby greeted him at the door with a smile, and he hustled inside to find his mother.

 

* * *

 

 

While Emma sat in her chair, her back straight and an attentive expression frozen on her face, she counted on her fingers at least six other things she’d rather be doing than sitting in yet another of her father’s officers’ meetings.

Perusing the library shelves with her son and watching the sunset at her favorite bench by the harbor were among the top two, but at nearly three hours glued to her seat, she was certain she wouldn’t say no to a trepanation if it got her out of the dreary council room. Seven men and herself around a table, while the politicians argued incessantly about the most mundane of topics, and the high ranking Naval officers puffed out their chests and shared war stories that she was convinced were more embellishments and bluster than fact, while her father sat at the head of the table, nodding along like it all interested him.

Emma was the only woman, and that was why she always accepted when her father invited her to the council chambers. Someone had to keep them all in check.

She stayed behind as most of the men filed out at the meeting’s conclusion, low voices following them out as conversation continued out into the hall, and Emma let out an exasperated breath. Perhaps the next time, just for once, she could take sick suddenly.

“Emma,” her father drew up to her side, and she automatically tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her from the room. “I worry that if you glare any harder at the back of the Commodore’s head, he might actually feel it.”

“Sorry,” Emma muttered, though she certainly wasn’t. “But when he made that comment about Henry being late with his new sword, as if he even needed it today, I was about to tell him where else he could stick that sword of his...” She trailed off as her father hastily disguised a laugh into a cough, and bit her lip to hide her smile.

“A shame,” David commented, shaking his head as they strolled through the upper level of Fort Charles, trailing far enough behind the others that voices wouldn’t carry, “that you aren’t taken with Walsh. He would be a good match-”

“Papa,” Emma hissed, “no. He’s always rude to Henry. And even if he wasn’t, his head is so inflated he hardly needs a ship to float.”

David sighed. “I just...I worry. You haven’t married, and I won’t always be here, you know,” he smiled as Emma elbowed him in the ribs, a hearty disagreement. “I want you and Henry to be happy and taken care of, that’s all.”

“We are happy,” Emma argued, hoping the words sounded truer to his ears than they did to her own.

It wasn’t a lie, necessarily - she loved her son with all her heart and found contentment in all the moments they shared. Stories before bed, walks by the water, and tending to the garden all filled her with warmth and satisfaction. They had a life together, and Emma _was_ happy whenever she was with Henry.

On her own, well, that was another matter.

Emma had learned how to be alone. Over time, she taught herself to be comfortable in her own company, to smother any pangs of loneliness, and told herself that the love of her son and her father was _enough_. While she certainly had no _need_ of a husband, she knew what she was missing, knew what was meant to fill the fissures in her heart, and on very rare occasions, she let herself remember what it was like to be loved.

She could remember fingers tangled in her curls, the weight of a hand settling on the small of her back, a smile meant only for her eyes. To have a soft kiss pressed against her lips, tentative and sweet, to share each other’s breath. Emma knew what it was to have someone by her side, until he’d been taken away.

It might have taken the better part of sixteen years and more than one broken heart, but Emma Swan had finally given up on love, at least in that sense, and though the wounds still lingered, like a ghost in her heart and a stain on her skin, all she really needed to soothe the ache left behind was the broad smile and unwavering devotion of her son.

 “Mom!”

  
Emma looked up from where she sat on the chaise in the lounge, the corners of her mouth already turning upwards. “In here, Henry,” she called back, setting the book she’d been reading aside and watching as he skidded into the room, with what looked like a sack from the bakery stuffed under one arm.

Henry held it out in front of him and grinned, dropping down to sit next to her. “I got one for you, too.”

“You certainly know the way to my heart, kid,” Emma teased, brushing a hand over his messy hair and basking in the flood of warmth that spread through her. Her boy was getting older, but she felt she was luckier than other mothers, whose adolescent sons withdrew from affections and favored their fathers. Even at thirteen years old, her son was thoughtful and kind, willingly sought her company at the end of the day. If Emma prayed for anything, it was that he’d never truly outgrow her completely.

Henry dropped his offering into her waiting hands before chomping into his own, a little too large of a bite to fit all the way in his mouth. After a few moments of struggling, he swallowed and looked up, dark eyebrows drawing together. “When you were in the meeting today, did you hear anything about pirates?”

Emma felt her breath catch in her throat, warmth draining away as quickly as it’d bloomed, and by the time she managed to find her voice, Henry was staring at her with a quizzical expression, and she might have spoken too quickly when she stuttered, “I-I didn’t hear anything. Why?”

Henry frowned. “Are you lying?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

She made a conscious effort to lie to her son as rarely as possible. There were things, certainly, that a mother didn’t tell her child- why she spent so much time in a small garden tucked behind an old, neglected home, why he couldn’t stray too close to the ‘tavern’ near the harbor after sunset, why she didn’t like to speak of his father - and while she wasn’t lying about not hearing anything of pirates, she couldn’t explain why the mere mention of them prompted such a _reaction_ \- stiffened shoulders, flashing eyes, and a white-knuckled grip on a poor, unsuspecting pasty - either.

“No, Henry. No one mentioned anything like that in the meeting today, I promise you. Why are you asking?” her voice was a little steadier, and Henry seemed to take her at her word.

“While I was in the bakery, everyone was talking about how they heard Captain Harrington’s crew brought Captain Hook up to the Fort this morning.”

 _Captain Hook._ She’d heard the name before, certainly, but she knew that this pirate had risen to infamy in the years after the events on the _Jewel_. Captain Hook couldn’t be the faceless man that came to mind when she heard heated whispers of pirates. The one she wished would be caught, the one who’s hanging she’d happily attend, if only to assure herself that, in whatever small way and however many years late it came, justice had been wrought.

Emma shook her head, as though she could clear her thoughts as easily, and pushed her fingers through Henry’s hair. She’d need to trim it soon. “I didn’t hear anything about that, Henry.”

“Can we go to the hanging tomorrow if it’s true?”

“ _No!_ ”

 

 

Emma couldn’t sleep.

After what felt like hours of rolling over, legs tangling in silk sheets and catching blond hair in her mouth when she tried to get comfortable, she laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, seeking shapes in the cracks.

Henry had stayed up later than she usually allowed, incessant in his questions. Normally Emma loved her son’s endless curiosity and desire to always _know more_ , but that evening all he wanted to talk about was the possibility of a pirate in Fort Charles’ jail cell, and there was nothing that Emma was less inclined to casually discuss over dinner or while tucking her son in for bed than _pirates_.

Well, perhaps there were one or two things she’d like to discuss less, but pirates certainly ranked among the top three.

The town too, it seemed, was particularly awake that evening. Emma could hear more noise coming in through her window than she usually did at that time of night. She rolled to her side, bringing a pillow up over her ear and shut her eyes tightly, hoping she could will herself to sleep out of sheer stubbornness.

The breeze shifted, a gentle swell of air wafting into the room, and Emma sat up straight in the bed, all thoughts of sleep vanished in an instant.

She could smell smoke on the wind.

Her bare feet hit the cool wooden floor. Emma moved quickly to her windowsill and looked out over Port Royal, and felt her blood turn to ice in her veins.

The town below was in chaos. The indistinct noises she’d heard before were raised voices, people shouting as they scurried across the roads, blinded by panic, and Emma felt her mouth drop open, horrified, watching as flames licked up buildings and breathed smoke out into the night sky.

She could make out two figures running up the path towards the manor, swords and torches held in hand.

Emma turned and raced from her room, feet skidding as she ran for the staircase.

She heard a pounding on the door and took the stairs two at a time, nearly turning her ankle when she hit the landing, halfway to the ground floor.

The family’s footman was already at the door, fingers curling around the handle, and Emma screamed.

“Don’t open the-”

A shot exploded through the hall, drowning out her warning, and the footman slumped over on the tiles of the entrance hall with a sickening thud, blood pooling beneath his head on the floor. One man stepped through the doorway, his foot falling onto the footman’s hand with a resounding crack that made Emma’s stomach turn, bile burning up the back of her throat. She watched as he stuck the smoking pistol through his belt and scanned the room, shoving an elbow into the stomach of the taller man that followed in his footsteps. She couldn’t see much of them from her vantage point, but the callous murder, their ragged state of dress, and the fires burning throughout the town painted a clear enough picture.

_Pirates._

Emma turned and sprinted back up the stairs, ignoring the shouts from below when the intruders spotted her fleeing. She slammed a door shut behind her and ran down the hall that housed their bedrooms, slapping a hand over her own mouth to stifle her shout when she collided with Ruby, as the maid shuffled from her room.

“Emma, what-” she started, brown eyes flying wide, as Emma grabbed her friend’s shoulders and turned her to face the opposite end of the hall.

She held a finger up to her lips. “Go in Henry’s room. Hide, both of you, please, and stay quiet,” Emma pleaded, her voice a harsh whisper as she pushed at Ruby’s shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Ruby hissed, digging her heels into the floor. A clock on the wall overhead ticked seconds as they passed by, and Emma fought down the urge to give in to panic.

“Hide!” Emma snapped, and Ruby must have heard the heavy footfalls of the pirates charging up the stairs, shouting as they went. The color drained from her face as she turned and hustled towards Henry’s door, glancing back over her shoulder.

“What about you?” Ruby begged. “Aren’t you coming?”

Emma shook her head. _They were running out of time._ “I’ll be fine, please, go!”

Ruby cast her one last look, her lips pressed in a thin line, before disappearing into Henry’s bedroom.

Emma ducked into her own, eyes darting around, willing her breath to slow down so she could just _think_.

Her father was still at the Fort. He was likely as safe as he could be, she knew. The three of them left in the house, though, they were another matter, but Emma would rather die before she lost someone else she loved to a band of godforsaken pirates, before she lost her _son_. The thought put steel back into her spine and gave her an idea.

_Humor me, Emma._

She heard the pirates crash into her father’s empty bedroom, the first on the hall, and knew she had a handful of seconds before they forced their way into hers. She dropped to her knees beside her bed, thrust her hand under the mattress, and searched until her fingers touched leather.

_In case you need it._

She pulled it out from under the bed, wrapping her fingers around the steel grip, and slid the blade free of its sheath. The sword gleamed in the flickering light of the fires raging outside her window, and Emma let her eyes fall closed, her free hand reaching up to clutch the ring dangling from her neck, relishing in the familiar press of silver against her palm.

 _Thank you_ , she thought, and pointed her sword in the direction of the door right as it swung open.

She caught the flicker of surprise in the eyes of the pirate who’d shot her footman, before his mouth unfurled, lips stretching into a feral grin. A golden canine tooth winked at her from the corner of his mouth.

“Well, well,” he spoke slowly, taking a step forward, and Emma could see the dirt lining the cracks in his skin. His eyes looked the way she imagined a shark’s would as it swam laps around its prey, and she felt a weight settle into her stomach. She straightened her shoulders, raising her arm like she’d been taught, and held her sword steady as he moved in closer, and said, “What have we here?”

The other pirate followed him into the room, and when Emma spared him a quick glance, she could see he towered over his companion like a lanky, disproportionate shadow, and his left eye rolled wildly in its socket. She pressed her lips together.

She knew the reputation of pirates, certainly, but the two in front of her looked absolutely unhinged, and she wondered just what chance she stood against them.

“The Governor and his family aren’t here, if that’s who you’re looking for.” The lie rolled easily from her tongue. Her fingers tightened around the handle, the cool metal feeling foreign against her sweaty palm, ill-prepared palm. “It’s just me here.”

“And the footman,” the second pirate let out a harsh, barking laugh, and Emma narrowed her eyes.

“Just you, all alone? We shouldn’t search the rest of the house?” the first asked, wicked amusement dripping from his tone, and Emma was about to retort when his eyes flashed. He reached a hand out towards her chest, and Emma jumped backwards, out of his way.

She brandished her blade in his direction, but her threat was soundly ignored.

“Where did you get _that_?” he hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

Emma blinked, chest heaving, before she realized what he was staring at. Her fingers closed around her ring. “It’s mine,” Emma frowned. His voice sounded distinctly accusing, and she felt vaguely scandalized at the thought that a pirate, of all people, would have the audacity to condemn her for anything.

The one-eyed pirate swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing. The two exchanged a look between them that screamed of a significance she was not partial to, and the first reached for his sword. Emma heard the hiss of steel and took a step back.

They were going to kill her, she realized, to take the ring from her throat. Then they would go down the hall to continue their looting, and they’d find her son.

“Parley!” Emma all but shouted it, the word leaving her in a rush before she could even think to remember where she’d heard it before.

The two pirates froze, staring at her with mixed expressions of surprise and irritation.

“ _Parley_?” the smaller of the two snarled at her.

The other nodded, eye rolling somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. “That’s what she said, mate,” he supplied, unhelpfully.

“I heard her,” he snapped back. Emma glanced between them, warily watching the exchange before abruptly losing her patience.

“I invoke the right of Parley. You have to take me to your Captain, _unharmed_ ,” Emma stressed, keeping her blade level in the space between them. She held her breath while they glared at her, and when the man who’d shot her footman broke out into another cruel smile, she felt dread skate up and down her spine, her palm growing damp around the hilt of her sword.

“She wants to see the Captain,” he drew out the words, venom dripping from every syllable. “So, let’s take her to the Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :)


	3. 2: Favoring Winds

Henry’s mother was gone.

Stolen from the manor in the dead of night, as if she were nothing more than loot, not a _person_ , not a mother or a daughter. She’d been taken away while Ruby had stuffed him into the back of his closet. She had refused to explain what was happening, shushing him when he’d asked why he heard shouts from his window, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly when he had begged to know where his mother was. She had clapped a hand over his mouth when they heard strange voices down the hall, and she hadn’t let him go until they heard David shouting for him, for Emma. Henry had shoved his way past Ruby and out of the room to find his grandfather.

It had only taken moments after that to put the picture together.

Port Royal had been invaded in the night. Their family’s kindly footman - who’d always had a smile for Henry, had asked about his books - had died of a gunshot wound in their foyer. His mother had been dragged from the manor, down to the harbor, and onto the pirate ship that lurked in the bay, dark sails casting their shadows over the buildings that still stood, its leering skeleton flag laughing at anyone who dared climb aboard.

While he paced a rut into the floor in the hall outside the council room, waiting for the Commodore to order his soldiers to do _something_ , anything at all, Henry watched from the window as the imposing ship - the _Jolly Roger_ , he’d overheard - turned and sailed out of the cove, as easily and undisturbed as it had arrived.

With his mother onboard.

Henry pushed into the council room, shoving the doors out of his way. He could hear the reprimands from the officers nearest him but paid them no mind and shook off a hand that landed on his shoulder. He jostled past bodies swathed in blue until his eyes landed on his grandfather at the head of the table.

“Why is everyone standing around?” Henry demanded as David’s gaze landed on him. “That pirate ship is leaving. We need to stop it!”

Henry heard the Commodore scoff from where he stood at David’s right side. “We have an entire city in shambles. We hardly have time to waste on this child’s tantrums. Get him out of here.”

Henry ignored him, laying his hands out on the table. He watched his grandfather sigh, looking like the world itself had fallen in while he alone bore the weight.

“Henry, this isn’t helping,” he started.

Henry shook his head, as though he could will the words away as easily. The muttering behind him was getting louder. Another hand clapped down onto his shoulder, with a light but insistent tug. “No, you’re not listening! Mom is on that ship, it’s-”

His grandfather’s voice rose to be heard over the din. “Go back outside to Miss Lucas, Henry. Now.”

Everyone in the room was staring, and Henry felt his face heat up. The hand at his arm pulled again, and he yanked away. He clenched his hands into tight fists before slamming one down onto the table in front of him. “No! We have to save her before it’s too late! If you won’t, then-”

“Enough!” David snapped, surging up from his chair. The room fell silent. His voice lowered, but didn’t lose its severity. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you’re the only one here who cares about Emma. Go back home, Henry, and stay there.”

Henry stared, pressing his lips in a taut line. He shrank under the unfamiliar anger in his grandfather’s voice, but he could see something else in the shadows under David’s eyes, in the hunched slope of his shoulders as he curled forward over the desk.

 _Fear_.

They didn’t have a plan. His mother was being dragged farther out to sea as they bickered back and forth, and they had no idea what to do about it.

His grandfather sighed again, a heavy and tired sound, and sank back down into his seat. He let his eyes fall closed. “Just go, please.”

Henry waited a beat, then another. His protests died on his tongue as an idea, half-baked and certainly reckless, took root and blossomed. He spun around on his heel and stalked from the room, and let the doors slam closed in his wake.

If no one else would do anything, he certainly would. He was going to save his mother, and the way Henry saw it, there was only one person in the entirety of Fort Charles that could possibly help him. Someone who had nothing to lose but his life, and everything to gain.

With a quick look behind him to make sure no one noticed his exit, Henry left the hall and headed down the stairs to the prison.

 

 

* * *

  


Port Royal was crumbling.

The pirates dragged her down through the streets with a nearly crushing grip on her arms, and Emma was horrified by what she saw - buildings up in smoke, bodies left behind in the streets, some still bleeding, while townspeople scrambled in all directions to escape the madness. As they passed the old house Emma had never allowed her father to sell, with its dangling shutters and sagging roof line, she let out a breath - it looked to be mostly unharmed.

Her pulse thudded in her ears, drowning out the thought and the ridiculous sliver of relief that accompanied it, and Emma realized she should probably start to worry a little more about herself.

Her captors lead her down to the docks and forced her into the rowboat that waited for them. She stayed quiet as they steered away from the harbor, and after a moment, Emma turned in her seat and looked up at the pirates’ ship.

It was no bigger than her father’s favorite vessel, the _HMS Snowfall_ , but the sails were dark and tattered beyond what she would consider sea-worthy. The faded lettering on the side labeled it the _Jolly Roger_.

They had already taken her sword, tossing it aside on the floor of her bedroom, and Emma missed it like a limb.

They hauled her up onto the ship as though she were no more than cargo. When her feet hit the deck and another pirate -  a broad, hulking man wearing nothing but filthy trousers and a weapon’s harness strapped over the expanse of his chest - reached out to grab her, she slapped his hand away.

In all her life, very few men had dared touch her without her permission, and the ones who did regretted it very quickly, but in the past hour she’d been handled with far more carelessness than she could stomach. Strange hands gripped her arms, and dirty fingernails dug into her skin. Though she realized she was probably foolish to expect more propriety from _pirates_ , Emma was done tolerating them. She spat at the man’s boot. “Don’t touch me.”

He reached out and slapped her, the back of his hand making contact with her cheek. Emma recoiled. Her eyes welled up instantly at the harsh sting, but she blinked rapidly to clear them, refusing to let tears fall. She leveled a glare in his direction, her breath leaving her in a hiss, and if she’d still had her sword in hand, Emma thought she very likely would have run the man through.

Before a scathing retort could fall from her lips, the burly pirate was yanked backwards.

“You’ll not lay a hand on someone under the protection of parley,” a new voice spoke.

All the pirates around her snapped to attention, eyes cast forward. The crowd around them parted and she could hear a rhythmic knocking as the man walked, no, _limped_ forward. Emma felt her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. He was smaller than she’d expected, standing at a height not much taller than her own. He hunched slightly over a gilded cane - his right leg was wooden from the knee down - but there was something in his smile that made her stomach turn. Just as she had known Hook’s, she knew this pirate’s name, and felt the burn of an old rage set her blood to a slow boil.

Emma lifted her chin, proud when her voice stayed steady despite the radiating pain in her cheek. “Captain Gold. I’m here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. His smile grew wider, revealing stained teeth, save one shining gold. “And who might you be?”

“Emma,” she snapped.

“Emma,” Gold repeated. “What a lovely name. But I’m sure you’ve got another, Miss…?”

She hesitated, eyes narrowing. She’d heard enough stories in her life of pirates stealing hostages from their beds, with the daughters of rich men their most favored prize, and knew better than to give her own surname. Her fingers reached up and wrapped around the ring hanging from her necklace. “Jones,” her voice was softer, “it’s Emma Jones.”

The Captain’s eyes flashed, a chilling hush fell upon the gathered crowd around her, and Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake. His eyes fell to her chest, and Emma hastily tucked the ring into the bodice of her nightgown, out of sight - just a moment too late.

“Emma _Jones_ ,” Gold echoed, casting his glance around his crew, and Emma felt the weight of all their eyes on her. “Quite brave, for you to come out here on your own. Tell me, dearie, do the good people of Port Royal realize they’ve got a savior in their midst?”

He was mocking her, she knew, and Emma straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze with a glare. “What will it take, to get you to leave and never come back?”

“That, unfortunately, was not in my plans for this evening,” Gold began, waving the hand that didn’t rest on his cane. “We’re looking for someone here, you see, and I do believe the marauding cur is tucked away inside Fort Charles. I left him behind to die on an island some years ago, but alas, he’s alive. I’ve come to retrieve him.”

Her father was in the Fort, and she was certain Ruby and Henry had been shuffled inside, along with everyone else in town who’d made it to where they’d be safe.

 _Not for long_ , Emma thought, and grim determination drowned out her fear as she pushed through the crowd, pulling the chain from around her neck, and dangled the signet ring out over the water. Every single pirate around her went still, and at any other time, Emma might have found it funny. “Leave Port Royal behind, or I will drop this into the sea.”

For a moment, it seemed like no one even dared draw a breath.

“What makes you think I’m interested in a mere trinket, Miss Jones?” Gold asked.

“You want this _trinket_ ,” Emma argued, eyes locked with Gold’s. She could see he was lying, from the shift of his eyes and the way he swallowed before he spoke. “They were going to kill me for it, when they saw it,” she added, nodding towards the men who’d raided her home and brought her aboard, “and I think it means something to you, too.”

Gold studied her with a shrewd, measured gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was low. Emma had to strain to hear him over the crash of the sea behind her. “That’s the trade you wish to make, then? We turn away from Port Royal, and you hand over that ring?”

Emma took a deep breath, tightening her fingers around the necklace she’d worn for sixteen years. “Yes.”

Overhead, the clouds broke, and rain spilled free, showering over the deck. She spared a moment of relief for the town, thinking of the fires that would drown.

“Then we have a deal, Miss Jones.” He turned away, calling out orders to his crew, and as he limped away, Emma heard him say, “Take our guest below!”

“Wait, what? You have to take me back to shore!” Emma protested, eyes widening. She couldn’t quite find enough air.

“That wasn’t part of our negotiation.” Gold waved a hand in dismissal, the _thump_ of his wooden leg fading, and Emma struggled as two men took her arms in hand.

She twisted to get away, a renewed rush of fear turning her blood to ice. One man leaned in close, his foul breath brushing the side of her face.

“Welcome aboard the _Jolly Roger_.”

 

 

While she paced the room, Emma grudgingly accepted that things could be worse.

Instead of the brig or cargo hold, or even worse, the crew’s quarters, she’d been shoved into a private room with a bed, washstand, and a small wooden trunk. There was no porthole by which to see the light, no weapons, or anything particularly personal to suggest a person made his home there, but she was alone. As she sank down onto the thin mattress, she repeated her mantra in her mind. Henry would tell her to have hope, and things could certainly be _worse_.

But they absolutely weren’t great, either.

Again, she wished she’d found a way to keep her sword. Obviously no captor worth his salt would allow a prisoner to keep a weapon, but it had brought her some comfort, in the way her necklace usually did. She looked down, poking her thumb through the hole in the ring. She was a little surprised Gold had allowed her to keep it, and wondered what was so special about an old ring that a band of ruthless pirates would be so desperate to have it - and the girl who wore it, she thought bitterly - in their grasp.

Frustrated, she leapt to her feet again and searched the room once more. Anything could be a weapon when wielded as such, and she damn well intended to find one.

She paused when she heard a quick, double knock on the wooden door and took two steps backwards, bumping into the washstand at her back.

The door swung open, and when Emma made out the figure that stood in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat, eyes narrowing to slits.

“Well, I never expected to see you here, Emma.”

Emma pressed her lips together in a tight line, curling her fingers into fists, and realized that this was what she got for all her attempts at optimism. When she found her voice, it came out rougher than she liked, more confused than angry, and she wanted to hold onto her anger, if she had nothing else left to her.

“ _Neal?_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d had nightmares as long as he could remember, every time he closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep at last.

They started off slow, sometimes even peacefully, but even while he slept he always knew that the light would be snuffed out by the shadows in his own mind. The ever present darkness would feast on him until he had nothing left. More often than not, he’d wake up with a gasp for air, drenched in sweat that quickly left him cold, but they always started off with something resembling _happiness_ , and for that alone, Killian always took his chances and doused his lantern, come what may.

His nightmares were, after all, the only time he could see his brother clearly, without the blurred edges time marked memories with.

They were the only times he could see himself clearly, too.

When he dreamed, he could remember the exact weight of Liam’s hand on his shoulder, the timbre of his voice when he’d said, _“_ _You’ve_ _made me proud, little brothe_ _r._ ” In those dreams, Killian doesn’t scoff at the title, just basks in the warmth of his brother’s praise for one moment more before he hears the shouts of the watchman, the echoes that always preclude the turn of events that ended his life as he knew it.

He can see himself in those dreams, the last remaining vestiges of a decent man, dressed in Naval blues. The hip flask tucked just out of sight in his jacket pocket is the only sign that _something_ has gone amiss in his life, that he’d already lost something he’d deemed irreplaceable, but he was making a name for himself, and he convinced himself that was enough.

Then the shadows creep in. He always sees _him_ , a wickedly curved dagger thrust through his brother’s chest, and a feral smile that’s seared onto the backs of his eyelids.

 

Killian clawed his way back to consciousness, sucking in a breath of stale air and opened his eyes, startling slightly when his gaze fell upon the bars and he realized he was being watched.

By a boy, no less, with dark hair and brown eyes and a stern frown.

For a moment, Killian stared back, unblinking.

“So, you _are_ real then,” the boy spoke, gesturing with a tilt of his head to Killian’s hook.

Killian lifted his wrist obligingly. “It would seem that way,” Killian muttered in response, rubbing the heel of his palm over his eyes and pressing against his forehead in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in his head. “Is there something I can do for you, lad?”

He’d meant for the words to come out fierce, intimidating, even, as he didn’t particularly care for an unbidden audience, but to his displeasure, his voice only sounded tired.

“I’m glad you asked,” the boy perked up, his expression as serious as Killian had ever seen on a child, and he nodded. “I need your help.”

“Aye. Well, I’m currently indisposed, at the moment,” Killian told him, waving his hand so the shackle around his wrist was more prominent, as if the bars he sat behind weren’t quite enough.

He shrugged, unperturbed. “I can get you out.”

Killian paused, arching one eyebrow. “You can get me out,” he repeated the words slowly, turning them over on his tongue until they made sense. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I need help rescuing my mother from the pirates that attacked Port Royal last night. They took her aboard the _Jolly Roger_ before they left the harbor early this morning.”

He couldn’t help it - his whole body jerked. He stood hastily, crossing the dirt covered floor to stand at the bars, his fingers curling around the metal. He leaned forward until he was as close to the boy as he could get, his voice pitched low when he asked, “The _Jolly Roger_?”

The boy frowned again, his eyebrows knitting together. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“What’s your name?” Killian demanded. “And just how certain are you in your abilities to free me?”

“Henry,” he supplied, and turned around on the spot, his eyes scanning the hall, “I’m pretty sure. I’m the blacksmith’s apprentice. I helped repair these cell doors a few months ago, actually. It’s not so hard-”

“A blacksmith’s apprentice? I was a blacksmith’s apprentice,” Killian replied softly, the words escaping him without any real intent, and when Henry raised an eyebrow at him, he realized how he sounded.

Sentimental.

“Will you help me, or not?” Henry asked him, meeting his gaze without any trace of fear or apprehension, but more than a hint of impatience. “My mother is in danger, and I need to go save her.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” Killian drawled, waving his hand to punctuate his words. “You wish to spring a pirate from the brig, acquire a ship through what will be, no doubt, less than honorable means, in your efforts to take to the seas in pursuit of _more pirates_ , captained by the bloody Crocodile himself? Is that right?”

“Yes,” Henry said, his voice unwavering.

Killian felt the corners of his mouth turn up in an involuntary smirk. He could appreciate what he considered to be a rather foolish amount of gumption. “And who’s your mother, lad? She must be quite the woman indeed, to inspire such loyalty,” Killian asked, tucking his tongue into his cheek.

“Emma,” he said, and Killian’s heart stopped. “Emma Swan.”

_Emma Swan._

Killian took a deep breath, and when he found his voice, all traces of his earlier insolence were gone completely. “I’ll need to retrieve my things,” he started, meeting the boy’s gaze as Henry broke out into a broad smile. “But let’s get on with our dashing rescue, lad, and go save your mother, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a million thanks to my beta and artist, huffleporg and Ady. And thanks to you guys, just for reading.


	4. 3: Of Fiction and of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back for another round, as things start to pick up speed a little. Thanks a million to huffleporg and Ady, for being the best of the best, and to the CSBB crew for making it all happen. I hope you enjoy this one.

_Master Brown was asleep again._

_Or so Liam always said, but Killian knew better. The man was three sheets to the wind, as usual, and no amount of Liam’s polite euphemisms would be enough to convince him otherwise. At thirteen, Killian saw a lot more than his older brother would like, and understood more than he was given credit for. He knew the man was well and truly pissed and wouldn’t see daylight for several hours more._

_He also knew Liam’s task would keep him away from the forge for most of the afternoon, which meant Killian had time to play._

_With one last check in his master’s office, Killian dashed away from the doorway and found himself an older cutlass on the workbench. He drew the blade from its sheath, lips quirking into a smile at the hiss of steel scraping against leather, and dropped into a fighting stance. Liam fenced with him occasionally, but most often Killian studied and practiced on his own_ _. He_ _was usually alone, and as Brown was often indisposed and most of the work fell into Liam’s hand, the younger Jones found ways to fill his time._

_Killian advanced on an imaginary target, keeping his sword arm raised and his footsteps light. He jumped up onto the stone ledge surrounding the furnace before executing a dramatic spin and a quick slash, the blade hissing through the air._

_“Yeah,” he murmured, a triumphant grin pulling up the corners of his_ _mouth. “That’s_ _what happens, when you mess with Killian Jones-”_

_He heard a muffled giggle and jumped. He spun in the direction of the doorway, holding his sword aloft. “Show yourself!”_

_A small figure stepped forward. Hands reached out from beneath a cloak, pushing back the satin hood and revealing a tumble of golden curls and a mischievous smirk. “Is this what you do to keep entertained, Killian?”_

_Killian felt the tips of his ears burn. “Swan!” he hissed, before jumping down from the ledge and letting the sword fall down to his side. He crossed the floor of the blacksmith’s shop to meet her. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that, you know.”_

_Emma’s green eyes lit up with her smile, and Killian felt his stomach clench in response. It’d been happening more often recently, in the company of his closest friend - the unpleasant fluttering in his belly, his palms growing so sweaty he’d have to swipe them on his trousers when she wasn’t looking - and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the changes._

_“Why not? So I don’t catch you playing, pretending to be a pirate?” Emma teased._

_“Not a pirate,” he mumbled, reaching out to push a strand of her hair out of her face before he could stop himself._

_Emma’s smile softened. She turned and looked around the shop, tilting her head to one side. “Where’s Liam today?”_

_“Headed your way, actually,” Killian replied, scratching at his ear. “Delivering a new blade for that git Walsh - I mean - the new Captain’s promotion ceremony.”_

_He swore he saw her lips turn up in the flash of a smirk and felt his own grin bloom in response._

_“So you’re on your own today,” Emma decided, before skipping over to the blade he’d abandoned, scooping it up off the floor and testing the grip’s weight in her hand._

_“Hold a moment, Swan,” Killian warned, but Emma paid his reprimand no mind._

_“Show me what you were doing before I showed up.” She commanded, a sly gleam in her eyes. She unfastened her cloak and draped the fabric over the workbench, revealing trousers and a man’s linen shirt that would have her governess ripping her hair out._

_Killian walked over, gently taking the sword from her hand and returning it to its sheath, holding up a hand to stall her protest. He went searching behind his brother’s desk before pulling out two wooden swords. Emma frowned at the sight of them._

_“Wouldn’t want to wound the Lady Swan,” Killian joked, before laying one across his palms and offering it to her with a slight bow of his head. “Liam and I practiced with these first, before moving on to real blades.”_

_Emma smirked, reaching out to take it in hand. “Are you quite sure you’re not worried I’ll wound_ you _instead?”_

_Killian held his own toy sword out in front of him and mirrored her grin. “Ever observant, Miss Swan.” He raised his to block her quick, and unexpectedly violent, swing, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Bloody hell, what was that for?”_

_Emma hid a smile at his curse, waving him off before he could apologize for it. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Miss Swan?”_

_“At least once more,” Killian retorted, fending off another blow and lightly tapping the underside of her arm with the flat of his blade. “Keep your arm up, Swan.”_

_Emma huffed out a breath before swinging wildly in his direction, and Killian dodged with a bright smile. He knew Liam would cuff him upside the head for neglecting his chores, and he’d likely be sore from this sparring match tomorrow, but while he basked in the warmth of Emma’s smile, nudging her in the side with his toy to hear her breathless laugh, Killian couldn’t think of any better way to pass an afternoon._

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were going to steal a ship.

Henry had known, mostly, what he was getting into when he’d decided to free Captain Hook from prison in hopes the pirate would help him find his mother. He knew they’d get absolutely nowhere without the means to leave the harbor, but stealing a ship out from under the Royal Navy sounded a lot easier in theory than in practice.

He crouched down next to Hook under the length of the docks, the pounding footsteps overhead a steady rhythm of people racing back and forth on the wood above them, and the tide crept closer to their boots with every moment that passed. They hadn’t spoken in awhile. Mostly, Hook just seemed to be _watching_ , but for what, Henry wasn’t entirely sure. Henry rocked back on his heels in the sand and took a moment to study his new companion.

They’d found Hook’s belongings without much trouble, left behind on an empty guard’s station, and now the pirate donned a long, black leather coat and a shabby weapon’s belt. Black clothes and the hook in place of his hand aside, Henry couldn’t help but think that he didn’t necessarily _look_ the way he’d imagined pirates in his head. Hook had all his teeth and seemed much cleaner, certainly, but _something_ about the way he’d spoken in the prison block, the way he’d agreed to help without too much manipulation, made Henry think the pirate was more _sad_ than bloodthirsty.

Henry picked up a seashell, holding it up between two fingers before flicking it away. “What are we waiting for?” he whispered.

Hook didn’t look his way, keeping his eyes out on the water. “An opportunity. Here’s the plan. We wait for that ship,” he began, voice low as he waved his hand in the direction of a smaller vessel, moored just off the docks in calm waters. “They’re getting her ready to make way. Once they’re done and otherwise occupied, we sneak aboard and seize control of the ship.”

Henry blinked, eyes widening. “And then?”

“And then we catch wind and sail away from this bloody town,” Hook supplied, sounding far more confident than Henry felt.

“We don’t have time to wait, though,” Henry protested. His mother had already been gone for hours. “You could kidnap me and use me as a hostage to steal _that_ ship!” he suggested, brightening as he pointed at one of the larger vessels, farther out into the cove. Bigger had to be safer in this sort of situation, he imagined.

Hook’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Well, that’s riskier,” he started, his voice giving away that he was trying not to laugh, and Henry scowled. “Look, lad, if I try to commandeer one of these ships with you as a hostage, they’re more like to shoot me on sight than allow us out of this harbor, and that particular ship isn’t going to be sailed by just two men. We won’t have to wait much longer, I assure you.”

_By two men._ Henry straightened his shoulders and felt his chin go up. “If you think that’s what will work, I guess. You’re sure we’ll be able to escape?”

Hook actually _smiled_ at him, a broad grin that showed his teeth, and clapped his hand onto Henry’s shoulder. “Not to worry, my boy. I’m a hell of a captain.”

“You don’t even have your own ship,” Henry pointed out, and quickly regretted it.

The pirate’s jovial air faded instantly, black brows lowering on his forehead, and Henry almost felt guilty at how offended the man looked.

He rapped the curve of his hook against Henry’s chest. “Actually, I _do_ have my own ship. I just don’t have her at the moment. Extenuating circumstances. Now, listen,” he straightened up, his shoulders hunched forward slightly as he stood as tall as the dock overhead would allow. He took a few steps forward, gesturing for Henry to follow, his eyes out on the waterline on the _HMS_ _Snowfall_. “We’ll have to move quickly and keep our wits about us. In what I’m sure will be mere moments now, Charles’ alarm will sound once they find I’m no longer incarcerated. Many of the soldiers here will leave for the Fort, to aid in the search. At that time,” he lifted his hand, pointing up to the dock above, “you will run down to the guards that remain and inform them that you saw me making my way up towards your family’s manor. Even fewer will stay behind. We get past them and go on our merry way.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you won’t just leave me behind while I’m distracting the soldiers?”

Hook let out a low sigh, one eyebrow raised in clear exasperation. “Try something new, Henry. It’s called trust. You saved my life. I’ll help save your mother’s.”

“But you’re a pirate,” Henry protested, and noticed again how Hook’s expression changed - a shutter behind his eyes, a look of something like bitterness flashing across his face before a wall came down, but when he spoke again, his voice was even.

“Aye, I am. But I live by a code. I won’t leave you behind, mate, but this won’t work unless you trust me.”

Henry stared at him for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay,” he agreed, the word barely above a whisper. “Now what?”

The corners of Hook’s mouth twisted up into a crooked grin. “Now, lad, the fun begins.”

  


In Henry’s opinion, his new companion desperately needed to redefine his meaning of the word ‘fun’.

At first, all had gone according to Hook’s plan. The sirens from Fort Charles had gone off, luring many of the soldiers from the harbor up the hill, just as he’d predicted. Moments later, Henry had raced down the docks, somehow managing to keep his footing on the ragged planks and knots in the wood, despite the tremors in his hands and his breath coming in short pants as all the ways what they were doing could go horribly wrong scrolled through his mind. When he ran up to the remaining soldiers, hands braced on his knees to stay upright, he thought that, perhaps, his panic could come in handy.

He’d fed them the lie Hook suggested, and four more guards left their post, leaving only two in between Henry and the ship that would ferry him to his mother.

When Henry looked up, he couldn’t help the gasp that left him, eyes flying wide.

The _Snowfall_ was moving.

_He said he wouldn’t leave me behind._

When one of the soldiers in front of him whirled around to see what had caught his attention, shouting once he saw the ship in motion, Henry realized his mistake.

His heart slammed against his ribs, an angry staccato beat to match the roaring in his ears. He quickly ducked his head and threw his shoulder into the guard’s stomach, knocking the stunned sailor off the dock and into the water.

“What the hell are you doing?” the other soldier snarled, one hand reaching out for Henry, the other falling to his belt, fingers closing around the grip of a pistol.

Henry ducked away, glancing back to the ship when he heard Hook shout his name. He watched the pirate throw a rope out to him, and when it landed in the water a few feet from the end of the dock. Henry couldn’t stop the grin that inched across his face. He saw he soldier lift his arm, gun pointed at the ship.

_Time to go._

He heard the gunshot shatter through the air, dodged another outstretched hand, and dove off the dock into the Caribbean Sea.

  


“That went well, I think.”

Henry hadn’t moved from the deck, soaked to the skin, with an arm thrown over his eyes to block the sun as he tried to catch his breath. He could no longer hear the soldier shouting. He sat up abruptly, eyes finding Hook. The pirate was grinning at him from the helm, dark hair flying in all directions as they sailed out of the harbor.

“Went _well_? They were shooting at you!”

Hook shrugged one shoulder. His hand disappeared into one of the many pockets of his coat, and withdrew a small black box. He pried the lid open with the tip of his hook, and looked out at the sea ahead.

“What is that?” Henry asked, pushing to his feet and crossing the deck, squeezing water out of his shirt sleeves.

“A compass,” Hook replied, before shoving it unceremoniously back into his pocket. “I’ve got our heading, but we’ll be requiring a stop, I’m afraid.”

“Stop?” Henry echoed. “We can’t. They have a head start already.”

“I’m aware,” he drawled, hand and hook on the wheel, “but we cannot hope to sail this ship all the way to Isle de Muerta and take on Gold’s crew alone. We’ll need more men.”

“How do you know where they’re taking her?” Henry stepped closer, resting a hand on the helm, and shifted on his feet under the pirate’s measuring stare.

“I know a great deal more than I should, Henry, but I’ll answer your questions if you answer me one. Tell me, lad, why come to me?” Hook asked, as one eyebrow arched upwards.Henry tried lifting one of his own, wondering what his expression looked like, but gave up as Hook continued, “why not go to your father, or your grandfather?”

Henry looked away, his eyes falling on the water. He’d never been out of the cove before, he realized - had never seen anything quite like the vastness of open water, the pure possibility of it, and he could easily see how life aboard a ship could appeal to a man. So many of the books he’d read told stories of adventures on the high seas, and it suddenly occurred to him that he’d landed face first into an adventure of his own.

“I did go to my grandfather first,” Henry started, letting out a heavy sigh. “But he has to default to Commodore Walsh when it comes to the Navy, and for someone who boasts about wanting to marry my mother, he didn’t seem to be in any particular rush to rescue her.” He felt the pirate’s shoulders go rigid next to his, saw Hook’s knuckles whiten as his first tightened on the handle.

It seemed to take Hook a few moments to formulate a response, and by the time he spoke, Henry was staring at him, wondering - not for the first time - precisely what sort of pirate he’d stumbled into allegiance with. When he did answer, it was not at all what Henry had expected.

“The Commodore wishes to marry your mother? Is she...not married to your father?” His voice sounded almost _desperate_.

Henry frowned at him, and Hook looked back out at the sea, avoiding his gaze.  “No,” Henry said slowly, drawing the word out, “I don’t have a father. Well,” he amended, looking down at the wheel, “obviously I did, at some point, but he left us before I was born.”

“He left you,” Hook repeated. If he’d sounded nearly hopeful before, his voice was pure desolation now - a broken, breathless echo, like a man in a book who’d stumbled upon water in a desert, only to find it a mirage - and Henry was left with the distinct feeling he’d somehow lost track of what their conversation was truly about, and would surely need a map to find the alternate plane the pirate was currently on.

“Yes, but it’s okay,” Henry said, feeling the need to comfort him, even if he had no real clue _why_. “I never really missed him or anything. My mom is the best mother. We live with my grandfather in the manor and we have a lot of fun.”

Hook met his gaze while he talked, and Henry thought he asked something else - Hook’s mouth moved, a question on his lips - but before Henry could figure out what the pirate had said, he was shaking his head with a sort of near violence, adjusting his hook on the wheel and moving it a few notches. “Now,” Hook started, “we’ll be sailing towards Tortuga to pick up a crew. Care to try a hand at the helm?”

Henry took a quick step forward, eager at the idea of steering a naval ship. “I’ve never sailed before, though I’ve read about it. I don’t know if that helps.”

“Come on, then,” Hook encouraged, offering a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Once you get your bearings, it’s as easy as pie.”

While Henry spaced his hands across the handles of the wheel, Hook leaned over the helm, scratching a _P_ and an _S_ into the wood with the tip of his hook. “The left side is called port, and the right side is called starboard. Now, go two notches to port,” he gestured with his hand, his smile lightening when Henry turned correctly, and he felt the corners of his mouth quirk up to match the pirate’s.

“Well done, mate,” Hook clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Henry’s cheeks ached with the stretch of his grin. “Thanks!”

Hook stood beside him, falling silent, and Henry watched the bright, blue-green waters, narrowing his eyes against the reflection of the sun. He wondered if this - sea and salt on the breeze, sun on his skin - was what called his father away from being a part of their family, back to the ship he served on, and for a moment, Henry almost understood.

“When I was a boy,” Hook started, something like resignation in his voice as he, too, stared out at the sea, “one morning I awoke and my father was gone. He was running from something, someone, I don’t know. He fled in the middle of the night to avoid capture.”

Henry looked up at him, instantly curious. “Your father abandoned you, too?”

“Aye,” Hook agreed, meeting his eyes with an understanding in his own. “That he did. Left my brother and me alone in our beds.”

Henry frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked back out at the sea, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hook at the helm. He wondered what it must be like to have the chance to _know_ one’s father and still be left behind, all the same.  He hoped his mother was alright, and wondered if she knew he’d come after her, even if no one else would.

It wasn’t until later that evening while Henry tossed and turned on the bunk in the lieutenant’s cabin, unused to sleeping with the motion of the sea, that he went back over the events of the day and realized what was nagging at him. Henry had been talking about his mother, and he thought back on Hook’s odd reactions. His voice had wavered, and Henry remembered how the pirate had asked him something he hadn’t heard at first, how he’d asked what was on his mind before clearly thinking better of it, shaking his head and giving Henry the impromptu sailing lesson instead. Henry stared up at the ceiling, the bed swaying and unsteady beneath his back, and realized what Hook had asked him.

_Is she happy?_

He didn’t get much sleep that night, but Henry began to wonder if he’d started sorting out the pieces of a puzzle that had been scattered long before anyone had bothered trying to begin to put it back together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Emma was closing in on seventeen and had spent far too many of her days keeping an eye on the horizon line._

_Ruby told her stories, while she helped Emma dress for the day or when they ran errands together in the Merchant’s Quarter, about the sailors who stopped in port_ _._ _Though there was only one sailor Emma kept her eyes open for, she couldn’t help but envy her friend for her boldness, her experiences. Ruby loved to go down to the tavern in her free hours and hear the stories the travelers brought with them, and a few of them made quite a handsome picture - Ruby would add, a sly smile curling her lips - and enjoyed spending time with a beautiful woman. Emma’s father would surely lose his head if she ever dared join Ruby in the evenings, but it had been a long two years since she’d had someone to hold her hand and press sweet kisses to her lips, and she wanted to know what it was like to have more._

_The night she left through her window - dressed in her plainest gown and cloak, her hair tied back - and scurried down the path to meet Ruby behind the stables was an evening she knew her father would be working late. The two headed for the tavern, arm in arm, and Emma had butterflies swarming in her stomach_ _:_ _a mixture of nervous excitement and something she was loathe to put a name to, but knew it for what it was, all the same._

_Guilt._

_But while he’d made her a promise, he hadn’t yet returned to Port Royal in two long years, and Emma was beginning to forget the curve of his smile and whether or not the exact color of his eyes matched the sky more than the ocean, and she was tired of being alone._

_Emma pushed those feelings away when a tall man joined her and Ruby at the bar, asking her name. His eyes were brown_ _,_ _and his smile was different - like he had a secret he’d like you to guess, instead of one he’d happily share with_ _you. He_ _made her laugh and boldly kissed her mouth when it came time for her to return home, and he asked her if she’d come back the following night._

_She did._

_And for several nights after, and while she kept it to herself, she wondered if this was what_ real _love was like - passionate kisses and fingers digging into skin, the slide of flesh against flesh instead of gentle brushes of lips and palms pressed together - and thought maybe she’d been wrong before._

_But when the day came that she couldn’t find him in his rented room above the tavern, when the innkeeper told her he’d cleared his possessions and left early that morning, Emma had returned home on dragging feet, blinking away stubborn tears and wondering why she was so easy to leave behind._

_It had taken two months more for Emma to realize that, while he’d abandoned her with ease, Neal had left her with something to remember him by, as her stomach began to swell beneath her dress. She’d climbed to the top of the highest hill in Port Royal, stared out at the water line, and wished she’d stuck with her memories of gentle kisses instead of looking for something else._

 

 

“What are you doing here?” Emma demanded, colliding with the washstand as Neal took a step forward, further into the room.

“I live here,” he answered, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving her a lazy once-over. “I didn’t know you were a Jones.”

“I don’t recall you asking,” she snapped. The corners of his mouth darted up into an amused smirk that seemed almost _smug_. Emma’s stomach turned over, and she wondered how she’d ever considered him charming.

“That didn’t seem to stop you.”

“I didn’t know you were a pirate,” Emma hissed, the words coming out as an accusation.

Neal raised his eyebrows. “I don’t remember you asking.” He handed her words back to her, grinning.  “But hey, we can get reacquainted over dinner. Captain wants to see you. There’s a dress in the chest,” he gestured with a nod of his head, “if you want to be a little more presentable.”

Emma could see the leer in his eyes, and her shoulders stiffened. “I doubt anything you have in your possession could be called _presentable_ , and I’m not going anywhere with you. Get out.”

“Well, this is my room,” Neal said slowly. “I’m not sure why you’re being so hostile, Emma.”

He was mocking her, she knew it, and the thought only made her angrier. She wondered what the consequences would be if she hit him, and decided she might not care. “You’re _not sure_? You left,” she snapped.

Neal shrugged. “Oh, well. I had somewhere to be.” He smiled again, and she suddenly felt sick.

“Well, if that’s all,” Emma bit out, “I’ve got somewhere I’d rather be just now, if you’d be so kind as to help me get out of here.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You owe me,” her voice cracked, and she felt heat rise up in her cheeks as he threw back his head and laughed. Her palms grew slick, and she wanted to go home. The thought had tears pricking in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. She’d rather throw herself overboard than cry in front of him.

“Look, Emma. You’ll be fine. Gold’s probably not going to kill you, as long as you follow his requests, first of which would be dressing and coming to dinner. I’ll be outside the door,” he said, before adding, “unless you need help with the dress.”

“Get out,” Emma growled, and Neal had the audacity to drop a wink in her direction before walking out, the door slamming shut behind him. Emma stared at it before sinking slowly to the ground, drawing her knees up to her chest, and trying to regain control of her hiccuping breaths. She closed her eyes and wondered what Henry was doing now.  Would he know what had happened to her? Would her father send ships after them? She didn’t know anything about the _Jolly Roger_ , but the _HMS Snowfall_ as one of the fastest ships in Port Royal’s fleet, and Emma felt certain they would come after her. She just needed to stay alive until then.

She took a deep breath, pushed herself back up to her feet, and opened the trunk to dress for dinner with Captain Gold and the man who’d fathered her child.

  


“Miss Jones. How kind of you to join us. That color suits you.”

Gold sat at the head of the table. He offered her a toothy grin, and Emma felt a shudder slide down her spine. The dress she’d found at the bottom of Neal’s trunk - and had spent more than a moment pondering what had become of the woman who’d owned it - was a dark crimson, and far less modest than most of the dresses Emma usually wore. She had to fight the urge to cover the swell of her breasts, just as she fought the desire to glare at Neal when he pulled a chair out for her.

She sank into the offered seat. “I didn’t realize I had a choice in the matter, Captain.” She pasted on her sweetest smile and counted how many knives sat at the place settings, wondering if they’d notice if she slipped one up her sleeve.

Gold’s smile widened. “Well certainly, we all have a choice, dearie. I must admit, though, I imagined you’d be famished after the night you’ve had. Care for an apple?” he raised a hand, the bright red fruit resting in his palm. “Fresh fruit is a delicacy aboard a ship, it would be a shame to waste it.”

“So you can poison me with it?” Emma asked, keeping her voice light. “I’ll pass.”

“There’s no point to killing you now, Miss Jones, I assure you.” He tossed the apple to Neal, who took a hearty bite.

Emma pulled the chain over her head, placing the signet ring on the table. “Take it and let me go. There’s no reason for you to keep me here, if you don’t want to kill me, and I’ve got news for you - I’ll throw myself overboard before I let a band of filthy pirates use me for -”

Captain Gold chuckled, holding up a hand to stop her heated tirade. “Miss Jones, you will be treated with respect aboard my ship, you have my word.”  He stretched his hand across the table, fingers curling around the chain of her necklace. He drew it towards him, and Emma’s fingers twitched in her lap with the urge to snatch it back. He held it aloft, letting the ring twirl at the end of the chain. “Do you know what this is?”

Emma lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Some sort of pirate ring, I imagine.”

“This, Miss Jones, is the final missing piece of a set of eight hundred and eighty two. The Dark One’s cursed silver, originating from the Isle de Muerta,” Gold’s voice was low, distant, and Emma frowned, curious despite herself as he continued. “It was rumored to belong to a beautiful queen, betrayed by the man she loved. The legend says that Nimue enchanted the silver pieces on the island, so that any who removed the treasure would fall under a terrible curse.”

“Hell hath no fury,” Neal muttered, and she resisted the very real urge to kick him under the table.

“That sounds like a fairy tale,” Emma protested. She crossed her arms on the surface of the table and slid a utensil up her sleeve.

“All stories begin with some truth to them, wouldn’t you agree?” Gold mused, turning the chain over his fingers before placing it back down on the table. “For twenty-two years now we’ve been cursed, seeking the means to break it, and the very last pieces have eluded me, until today.”

“You’re insane,” Emma declared and tightened her fingers around the handle against her palm.

Neal was chuckling into his plate, mouth full of food, and Gold threw back his head and laughed. Quickly - faster than she could remember moving in her life - she jumped to her feet and plunged the knife in her hand into the Captain’s chest.

The look he gave her could only be described as _disappointed_. He shook his head and wrapped his hand around the kitchen knife’s handle and pulled it out with a sickening sound. Emma scrambled backwards as he sighed. Beside her, Neal groaned, as though she’d taken his plate away from him before he was finished rather than attempt to kill his Captain.

_There’s no way._

Emma stared at the tear in Gold’s shirt, where blood should have been pooling, but none came. She felt her heart pick up speed, a throbbing pressure rise up behind her eyes. “You-”

“Tell me, Miss Jones, what did you expect to do after killing me?” he shared an amused glance with Neal. “Did you imagine my son would not object?”

Neal smirked at her, and Emma Swan did not swoon. She’d never fainted in her life, not even after thirteen hours of laboring to deliver a child, but she felt like she was pretty close to what she imagined it was like, as dizziness washed over her, and the floor looked enticing as it rocked under her feet.

Gold showed his teeth in a feral grin, his eyes as dark and empty as a shark’s. He stood up slowly, crossing to the window. The moon had fought its way through the clouds that shouded Port Royal most of the night, and as the faint beams of light splayed across the Captain’s body, his flesh faded into bleached, splintered bone, his hair limp and hanging, and any skin that remained took on the appearance of ugly, rotted scales. Horrified, Emma watched the hinge of his jaw move when he spoke.

“You’d best start believing in fairy tales, Emma. You’re in one.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nearly twenty-four hours prior, Killian had slept fitfully in a jail cell, jolting awake at every noise and wondering how he was going to escape the hangman’s noose by morning.

Now he stood at the helm of ship that wasn’t his, hook holding the wheel steady as the _Snowfall_ cut a determined path through the waves, staring out at the vast emptiness that surrounded him. As the sky began to grow lighter, with the vague, blue and gold hints of impending dawn, he wondered if he was simply on his way to a different form of execution.

Despite the exhaustion nagging at his limbs and weighing down his eyelids, he kept his eyes on the horizon. He’d spent many years sailing through the night and knew well he wouldn’t get a chance to sleep until they’d made it to Tortuga and he managed to find someone to man the helm that he could trust not to send them to a watery grave. He thought of the boy below deck, likely snoring away on the first mate’s bunk, and envied the easy sleep known only to children.

And sometimes not even then, he thought, for Killian had hardly slept well at Henry’s age, either.

He let out a heavy sigh. No, at Henry’s age, he’d spent his nights alternating between nightmares or simply staying awake, trying to lure the Governor’s daughter out of her bed and into the gardens to play. They’d pass the dark hours of night time with the clash of wooden swords or the bright sounds of her laugh as he chased her around trees instead of having Liam shake him awake, fingers passing through his sweaty hair as his older brother sighed softly, the weight of his hands on his shoulders grounding him.

_“Another nightmare, Killian?”_

_“Aye, Liam. Sorry I woke you.”_

_“Not to worry, little brother. Say, have I told you what that fool Walsh did the other day? You’ll like this story.”_

Alone on the deck, Killian felt his lips twist into a bitter smile. He thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and drew out his flask, pulling the cork free with his teeth before tilting it towards the sky and tipping the flask back against his lips. While the echo of his brother’s voice took up much of the space inside his head in recent years past, he rarely allowed himself to indulge in the ghost of Emma’s, but something about the flicker of mischief in her son’s eyes, the stretch of his smile, took him back to days when his life was far simpler.

_She threw her head back, curls bouncing over her shoulders, more silver than gold in the moonlight. “You’ve got to be faster, Killian, or you’ll never catch me.”_

_Her taunts had done the trick and he’d cleared the space between them, hands slipping around her waist and lifting her off her feet in a quick spin. “One of these days, Swan, I’m going to stop chasing you.”_

_She’d danced away from him with a sly, knowing smile, and the game resumed with him chasing her laugh into the woods behind the stables._

“Not bloody likely,” Killian muttered to the wind, and drained the last of the rum from his flask. As he watched the sun crest over the water line, he realized that, at twelve years old, Emma Swan had already known something he hadn’t.

“Who are you talking to?”

The voice startled him, and Killian cursed under his breath. “Ah, no one, lad,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to see Henry emerging from the hatch. “It’s early yet, if you want to catch a few more hours of rest.”

Henry shrugged, coming to stand next to him at the helm. “Couldn’t really sleep much,” he admitted.

Killian felt the corners of his mouth twitch, feeling a rush of something like kinship for the boy. “Your first night at sea,” he agreed. “It can take some getting used to.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Henry mumbled, rubbing a hand absently over the spokes on the wheel.

Killian hooked the front of his shirt and hauled him closer, causing the boy to break out into a grin. “Your turn then, lad. Keep us on a steady course,” he spoke lightly, taking a few steps back and sitting down, pressing his shoulders back against the side of the ship in an effort to find a comfortable spot. He couldn’t leave Henry in absolute control of ship, but maybe if he could shut his eyes for just a moment -

“Can I ask you something?” Henry spoke up, and Killian bit back his sigh.

“Certainly, though I imagine you just did,” he replied blithely, smirking a bit at the boy’s scoff. “Come on then, out with it.”

“What happened to your hand?”

It wasn’t the question Killian expected, and he thought perhaps he should have. Henry had already proven to be inquisitive. “It’s a rather long and ugly story, but if you’d truly like to hear it, I’ll tell you.”

The boy nodded, and Killian held his hook aloft, watching the dawn’s light glint off the metal as he started speaking. “The man we seek - the man who took your mother - is named Captain Gold, though many call him the Crocodile. He’s one of the most ruthless pirates to ever haunt these waters, and after I, rather unfortunately, crossed paths with him seven years ago. I suppose you could say we have been at odds ever since,” he shrugged one shoulder, keeping his eyes averted from Henry’s avid interest. “I sank his beloved ship in the year after that, did some quality damage to my foe, but as a reward for my efforts, as they were, the next time we met he took my left hand.”

When he chanced a look at the boy, he was frowning. “But why? What happened seven years ago that started it?”

Henry’s gaze was shrewd, and despite the pit in his stomach, the sweat on his palm from reliving his tale, Killian felt a smirk inch across his face. He knew well where the boy had gotten his gumption.

“You’re awfully perceptive,” Killian allowed, his grudging respect growing, and he let out his breath on a sigh. “Aye, the first time I crossed paths with the Crocodile, I was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy,” he started, looking away when Henry’s eyes widened. “He and his crew boarded our ship, and Gold murdered my brother.”

His breath caught in his throat. His heart still raced at the memory, a flash of heat rising to his skin and burning, and as his nails cut into his palm, Killian realized it might very well be the first time he’d said the exact words out loud.

He didn’t have many people to tell, after all. His crew knew only that he and Gold had a feud that was unlikely to end peacefully, but they were paid well, their thirst for blood well sated, and if they thought their Captain’s fight with the Crocodile bordered on obsessive, they kept their mouths shut and their swords close. The only one who dared to ask was Scarlet, one evening when they’d had quite a bit to drink, and Killian had told him as much as he could, while still honoring his brother’s dying wish.

_Don’t tell them your name._

He’d done what Liam had asked. Killian Jones had died alongside his brother, and within the year that followed, Captain Hook had risen from the ashes of a broken man who’d only ever wanted to be _enough_ , only to always fall just short of the mark. He had protected his brother’s legacy and guarded his honor.

After all, Liam had only wanted to make something of the name Jones, and he had. Killian wasn’t about to do what he did best and blacken it.

A hand closed over his fist, and Killian’s shoulders stiffened. He looked up to see Henry had tied off the wheel, keeping it steady, and crossed the few feet between them. He crouched down, balanced on the balls of his feet, his dark brows furrowed low on his forehead. The boy’s eyes were hazel, not green, but he saw the same warmth, the same determined absolution that had very nearly broken his resolve close to sixteen years ago. Something inside his chest clenched, as tight and painful as his fist. As Henry’s hand squeezed his, Killian let out a slow breath, a hiss between his teeth, and loosened his fingers, one by one.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Henry spoke softly, his voice solemn. When Killian’s shoulders slumped, the tension leaving him like a receding tide, Henry rocked back on his heels, setting his hand down on the deck for balance. “No one should have to lose their family.”

“No,” Killian echoed, clearing his throat against the sudden thickness. “No one should. We’ll find your mother, Henry.”

Henry offered him a smile, pushing up to his feet to stand, and Killian tried to return it, but he knew the grimace on his face fell short. He pushed a hand into his coat pocket to retrieve his compass, busying himself with checking their heading while Henry went back to the helm.

For a moment, he watched the boy in front of him, dark hair flying on the wind, a familiar stubborness in the line of his shoulders, and like an unbidden sunrise blooming behind his eyes, Killian Jones thought of the last time he’d seen Emma Swan, a memory he’d long wished he could forget.

_He’d been away for three long years, but hope had lent a lightness to his steps as he jogged from the harbor into the streets of Port Royal, eyes catching on every blond head until he found the one he sought. He’d caught the edge of a smile that wasn’t his but still had the corners of his mouth quirking up, her happiness as contagious to him as it had always been, before she shifted in the line and he finally noticed what her smile had blinded him to, the evidence that told him he was too late. He’d turned into an alley, his hands pushing through his_ _hair. As_ _he sank slowly to the ground, another voice echoed through his mind._

_“You mark my words, boy. A wastrel like you will never be enough for a girl like her. You’re nothing, and in time, you’ll see I’m right.”_

_The words had played on a loop in his mind for three years, but finally, he believed them._

On the deck of the _HMS Snowfall_ , Killian Jones stared down at the compass in the palm of his hand, it’s needle pointing steadily in the direction ahead. His conversation with Henry the day before had turned his world upside down, and as if in response, Liam’s voice rose in his mind, a stubborn argument to everything he’d forced himself to accept.

_“You were wrong, little brother. Maybe, if you’d left that alleyway, gone up to her, it would have been enough. You would have been enough -”_

But. No. There was nothing to be gained from wondering if things might have been different, he thought bitterly, because nothing had truly changed. He was still a pirate, long overdue for the noose, and Emma was still miles above him, too far out of his reach to even contemplate the climb. For a moment, he pondered what was worse - that very first break, at nineteen years old, when he’d given up on his hope and his love, or the hope freely given to him now, only near to thirteen years too late.

He glanced at Henry’s back before giving his head a vicious shake and pushing back to his feet. He sorely wished he hadn’t finished off his rum, but contented himself with the thought that he could restock in Tortuga, find a crew, and be on his way. He knew what he wanted, knew what would soothe the aches flaring up in age old scars, and it certainly wasn’t moping around, wondering what his life could have looked like.

Captain Hook needed his ship back.


	5. 4: The Chains of Love

_Whenever she could sneak away from her lady’s maids and skip out on lessons, Emma brought Killian lunch._

_She walked down towards the harbor, trying not to_ appear _as though she were in any particular hurry, but the bread tucked into her basket was still warm and the cheese she’d added to the sandwiches was sure to be slightly melted, and the last time she’d given him this particular sandwich, his eyes had lit up at the first_ _taste. He’d_ _barely been able to keep his mouth closed while chewing from the force of his smile, and Emma wondered when the last time was that he’d had something as simple as a warm sandwich to eat. The thought had left her feeling sad, angry, and determined to feed him as often as she could._

_Emma situated the skirts of her blue dress and sat down on their preferred bench, right near the retaining wall that held back the sea. Killian said it had the best view of the bay, and was only a quick jog down the hill from the blacksmith, which made it the perfect spot for them to meet on the days the weather was nice_ _,_ _and she could escape from the manor. While she usually arrived first, so Killian could see her from the window and know to join her, she looked out towards the waterline and saw a dark head break the surface, and realized he’d beaten her after all._

_Killian pushed himself up onto the stone wall and sat, water running in rivulets down his bare chest, black hair plastered to his forehead. He spotted her and grinned, raising his hand in greeting before swiping his hair back, reaching down to pull his white shirt from the grass where he’d left it._

_Emma looked down, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. She’d never seen quite so much of his skin before. She made herself busy pulling food from her basket, and, after a few seconds, felt him sink down onto the bench beside her. “Liam will scold you, if he finds out you’ve been swimming in the harbor when you’re supposed to be working.”_

_“Perhaps,” Killian agreed, but she could hear the smile in his voice._

_She looked up to see his grin, feeling her own lips curl in response. The breeze ruffled his hair, leaving it standing on end the way it often did when he ran his fingers through it. He’d pulled his shirt back on, but it stuck to wet skin, and his eyes gleamed bright blue, rivaling the color of the ocean in the midday sun. He was certainly the prettiest boy she’d ever seen, and_ _,_ _for a moment, Emma thought it unfair._

_“But it’s a nice day,” he continued, unaware of the direction of her thoughts. “And even better now with your company, Swan.”_

_Emma rolled her eyes, and bit down on her bottom lip to hide her smile. She thrust a wrapped sandwich into his hands, her skin tingling when he caught her hand briefly in his._

_“Thank you, love,” he added, sincerity ringing in his low voice, before he released her fingers as quickly as he’d grabbed them._

_They ate in silence, more comfortable on Killian’s part than her own, she was sure._

_Only five years had passed since his father’s departure, but he seemed to have found a sort of peace. He’d fallen in more easily to the apprenticeship he hadn’t wanted, often describing the swords he made to Emma in great detail. She knew Liam’s entry into the Navy the previous year had given him pause, but his position kept him close to home for the time being, allowing him to be there for his younger brother, and Killian was thankful for it. Emma knew that, if Killian lost Liam, too, there might be a part of him that would never quite recover._

_Emma, on the other hand, was growing steadily less at ease in her best friend’s presence, and_ _she_ _hated it. She remembered his most recent fencing lesson, just the week prior. He’d stepped up behind her to correct her posture - his hand a featherlight touch on her wrist, a low, mumbled explanation in her ear, his breath warming her temple - she’d wondered when he’d gotten so tall and felt her cheeks flush. She’d been grateful for the dim lighting in the forge, just so he wouldn’t notice how ridiculous she was._

_Ruby had gloated that she had a crush on Killian Jones, and when Emma had tried to argue, Ruby pulled tight enough on the strings of Emma’s corset to make her gasp._

_Killian reached for the waterskin inside the basket, taking a generous drink before setting it back down. “When would you like to practice again, Miss Swan?”_

_She could hear the teasing in his voice, and the tension she’d carried in her shoulders for the past several days snapped. “Will you ever just call me Emma?”_

_Killian blinked at the bite in her tone. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before admitting, “Liam told me it’s bad form to be so familiar with a lady of your station, to use your given name,” he explained, reaching up to scratch behind his ear as he looked away._

_Emma frowned. “Forget what Liam says,” she told him haughtily. The idea that Killian thought himself somehow unworthy of her made her skin crawl. She stared at him until he turned back and met her gaze, peeking from under his lashes - long, full, and so unfair on a boy - and Emma reached for his hand where it rested on his thigh. She tangled her fingers with his, pressing into the warmth of his palm. “I want you to call me Emma, at least sometimes. Definitely not_ Miss _Swan.”_

_He looked down, staring at their hands and saying nothing, and Emma came to a decision, one she knew Ruby would be quite proud of.  She turned slightly in her seat to face Killian and reached out with her free hand, gripping the damp collar of his shirt. With a rough pull, she drew his face closer to hers and pressed her lips to his._

_She heard him suck in air, a soft gasp that had her fingers twining into the still wet strands of his hair. He stayed frozen against her for one, two heartbeats, and just as Emma was about to pull away and perhaps even throw herself into the bay to spare herself the embarrassment, she felt him sway into her._

_His hand tightened around hers, and his lips, soft and warm, pressed back against her own in a kiss so sweet she felt a pang inside her chest. He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his other_ _hand. There_ _was a butterfly touch of his his fingers against the apple of her cheek before he slid them into her hair. She felt him press lightly against the back of her neck, before cupping the curve of her jaw in his palm, as gently as she’d seen him handle his mother’s flowers, coaxing them into blooming with the sheer warmth of his smile._

_He touched his lips to hers once more, the softest caress, before pulling back slightly, his eyes finding hers as his breath ghosted across her face. “As you wish, Emma.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Emma sat in the farthest corner of the room, keeping as much space between herself and the pirates as she could. The knife she clutched in her fingers was unlikely to help her, but it steadied her nerves. Neal continued eating, shoveling food into his mouth as though he were uncertain he’d see a meal again. Gold simply watched her from the head of the table, a faint smile etched across his face that screamed of patience and amusement in equal measure, and had her contemplating stabbing him again. It’d do even less good the second time around, she was certain, but found herself tempted all the same.

“So,” Emma spoke up, swallowing to clear her throat when her voice came out reedier than she liked, “you need that ring to break this curse, then? Does it affect only you?”

“The ring you’ve been kind enough to deliver, yes. It’s the last missing piece,” Gold started, and Emma blinked. He was better than most, she’d give him credit for that, but she still knew the statement for what it was.

_Lie_.

“The rest of the crew is cursed as well,” Gold continued, oblivious to Emma’s pointed stare.

“They all turn into...that? What about him?” she thrust a finger in Neal’s direction, not quite willing to force her lips to shape his name.

Neal looked up, offering her a food-filled smirk, and Emma scowled.

“No,” Gold shook his head, “Neal was just a boy, not yet part of the crew when the curse struck. I brought him aboard to help us search.”

_Lie_.

Emma narrowed her eyes slightly, but the Captain seemed unperturbed. “Will that be all, Miss Jones, or did you have any more questions?”

“No,” Emma spoke slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his. “I don’t have any more questions at the moment.”

“Excellent,” he broke his gaze away first, folding his hands in front of him on the table’s surface, and turned his attention to his son. “Neal, if you’d be so kind as to escort our guest to my quarters? I trust you’ll behave yourself, dearie.”

Emma knew a dismissal when she heard one, and when Neal rose from his chair, she tightened her grip on her knife. She stood, refusing his assistance, and cast one last glance at the Captain before turning and leaving the room. Neal followed close behind, and as soon as the door was shut at their backs, Emma spun around to face him.

“What else does he need to break the curse?”

Neal blinked, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “What are you going on about now?”

“Your father,” Emma spat the words out. “He was lying before. He needs something other than that signet ring to break his curse, and I want to know what it is.” She bit back her fury when Neal rolled his eyes at her, and held her ground.

“Relax, Emma. He has this ridiculous spell that he got from a hedge witch, so he thinks he needs a sacrifice. He’ll just cut your hand, take a drop of blood, is all.” He brushed past her, continuing down the hall.

Emma recoiled away from his touch. “If that’s all, then why lie?” she took off after him, bundling the skirts of her dress in her fists. “Why does he want me in his chambers?”

“He doesn’t sleep,” Neal informed her, and she could hear his impatience growing in the words. “I’ve had enough of your interrogations for one day, so if you’re quite finished?” He stopped outside the door to the Captain’s cabin, gesturing with a wide sweep of his hand.

Emma drew up her chin and swept past him, laying her hand on the handle before glancing at him with as disdainful an expression she could muster. “I’m finished with you, yes. Go on then, Neal, I’m sure your master has some need of you.”

She took pleasure in the way his jaw dropped, in the scowl twisting his features, before throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind her before he could retort. She flicked the lock into place before turning around, studying her newest prison.

Emma had to admit, she was certainly curious about a great many things in regard to Captain Gold, his curse, and why he’d allow her free rein of his chambers. She had every intention of snooping.

The cabin was larger than the one they’d tossed her in before. A small bed sat on a platform in the corner. It was neatly made up in dark red silks, and looked as though no one had slept there for quite some time, lending some truth to Neal’s declaration that the Captain never used it. A neat desk sat next to it, various maps lined the walls, but perhaps the most peculiar was the dark wooden spinning wheel. Emma cast it a suspicious glance as she crossed the room to the desk, and leaned closer to the wall, seeing that one map had Port Royal marked with a star.

The bookcases to her right were overflowing, some spines reading in languages she didn’t recognize. She noticed a well-worn parchment sticking out of one of the books, and carefully pulled it out with two fingers. She sank into the desk chair, flattening the page out on the tabletop and smoothing the weathered parchment with her palms. It had several tears and water stains, blurring many of the words, but Emma narrowed her eyes, reading some of the last passage.

_You must replace what has been lost_

_Repay the debt of blood with the freshest of the line_

_Sacrifice’s what’s next, a heart as death’s riposte_

_When you return to the Dark One’s Shrine,_

_And at last face greed’s cost_

 

Emma frowned over the words, before carefully refolding the parchment and reaching to put it back inside the book she’d found it in. When her fingers brushed the spine, she paused. _A ridiculous spell he got from a hedge witch,_ she remembered, and felt a shudder slide through her. She stuffed the parchment down the neck of her dress instead. Gold might have been cursed, but Emma wasn’t certain that excuse made him any less insane. She pushed away from the desk and stood, leaning closer to some of the maps on the wall. They looked like Naval charts, and she found herself wondering what else she might find.

Emma scoured the desk, rifling through drawers until she reached the bottom, her fingers tracing the back of a drawer and finding another folded parchment. She drew it out, flattening the paper, and felt her breath hitch as she read the words in front of her.

She was looking at the Naval commission of one Liam Jones, named Captain of the _HMS Jewel_ twelve years ago.

Emma scrambled away from the desk - and the commission - as though it’d burned her. She scanned the cabin and felt her pulse pounding behind her eyes, her throat tightening, and realized why the _Jolly Roger_ had seemed familiar to her when they’d brought her aboard. She stumbled across the room to the hulking wardrobe and flung the doors open, her breaths coming faster and sharper. She pushed past Gold’s ragged shirts, uncertain what it was she was searching for, only aware she’d know it when she found it. Emma dragged the large drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe open and paused.

Her hand shook as she reached into the back of the drawer, her fingers catching on fabric as she drew out a Naval jacket and hat. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she ran a hand over the coat, searching into the pocket and coming out with a leather bound military insignia. She flipped it over, and her heart lurched.

_Jones._

She drew the hat up into her hands, turning it over. It wasn’t a Captain’s hat, she knew, and Emma crushed it against her chest, letting her eyes fall closed.

The _Jewel_ had been commandeered, she remembered, and berated herself for being surprised. She’d figured, after all, that it was Gold who murdered the Jones brothers.

She’d help him break his curse, she thought bitterly, just so she could drive a knife into his heart a second time.

Everything she’d felt since the pirates had broken into her home - all the horror, the fear, the fury - welled up and the dam inside her crumbled. Emma pressed her lips to the top of Killian’s hat and let the tears fall, spilling over her lashes and branding her cheeks, and cried for everything she had lost.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They made it into Tortuga before another night fell, and Henry was bouncing on the balls of his feet while Hook moored the _Snowfall._

Henry could hear shouting and, from what he could see from the deck, he’d found himself in a place quite different from Port Royal.

“Come on then, lad,” Hook called out, and Henry bounded over to his side. The pirate dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword before turning to face him. “Listen, Henry, you’re to stay close to me, understood? Tortuga sees all sorts, and none of them are to be trusted.”

Henry couldn’t help the grin that inched across his face at the seriousness in Hook’s tone and started towards the gangplank. “How bad can they be? It’s just a bunch of pirates, right?”

He heard the pirate sigh. “Just a bunch of pirates is certainly bad enough, I assure you.” Hook disembarked after him, turning to drop a bag of coins into the Dockmaster’s hand, and Henry wondered from what pocket he’d unearthed the money. “Just stick close.”

Henry did as he’d been told, staying glued to Hook’s side as they passed through the streets. It was a chaos he was certain he’d never seen before, and figured he might never see again - two men brawled in the gutters while others looked on and cheered, and Henry felt his cheeks heat up the first time they brushed past a woman with a starkly painted face. She was dressed in a gown any lady would never be caught wearing, with far more skin showing than Henry had ever seen. He felt Hook’s hand fall between his shoulder blades and allowed himself to be steered away and lightly pushed through the door of a tavern. Henry fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the noise level increased drastically.

Hook, for his part, seemed quite comfortable. He pushed through the crowd, keeping hand or hook on Henry at all times, eyes constantly scanning the room. His expression was shrewd, calculating, until the moment Henry saw the pirate’s face light up, a grin unfurling. He navigated towards the bar, and Henry found himself deposited onto an empty stool while Hook clapped his hand onto the back of a smaller man, clad in an odd, bright red hat.

The man startled and looked up at the contact, eyes going wide as saucers. “C-Captain! Where have you been?”

“Caught up in a rather tight spot, Mr. Smee,” Hook drawled, waving his fingers in signal to the bartender.

Henry watched in thinly veiled fascination as the barkeep dropped a stein in front of him almost immediately, and the man called Smee looked on in a combination of fear and admiration.

Hook knocked the drink back, taking a rather large swallow, before slamming it back down. “With not much thanks to you, I’m afraid.”

Henry watched as Smee’s throat bobbed, his eyebrows sinking low, and Henry wondered if he’d get to watch an actual duel.

Hook broke into a wide smile. “Worry not. I’ve acquired a ship and intend to make way as soon as we can gather some supplies, if you’d care to join us.”

Smee straightened on his stool, one hand reaching up to slip his hat off his head and wring it between his hands. “Where are we heading, Captain?”

Hook took another swig of his drink. “The Isle de Muerta, it would seem.”

Smee dropped his hat.

Henry ducked down to grab it, offering it back, and Smee scrambled to take his hat back, stammering a thank you. “And this is?”

“Henry,” Hook introduced with a wave of his hand. “He’s paid quite handsomely for passage across the seas to reclaim his mother from the clutches of the blasted Crocodile.”

Smee looked rather confused at the idea of a thirteen-year-old benefactor, and Henry couldn’t blame him. “So we sail after the _Jolly Roger_ , then.”

“Aye,” Hook agreed. “Now, let’s see about scrounging up a sea-worthy crew, shall we?”

“O-of course,” Smee leapt to his feet, shoving his hat back down onto his head and smoothing a hand over it. “I know where we can find Scarlet and Tink.”

“Wonderful,” Hook finished off the last of his drink, slamming the stein down onto the bar top and flicking a coin onto the surface. “Lead the way.”

  


Henry’s unlikely team grew to four when they found one William Scarlet, asleep atop a stack of crates outside the brothel. Though he’d read of such places before, he’d never actually _seen_ one - his mother never allowed him to venture near the ‘tavern’ by the harbor after dark - and he stuck close to Smee’s side as Hook strolled into the alleyway, carrying a bucket of water by the handle with his hook as he went. He came to a stop at the unconscious man’s feet, tilted his head to one side, and unceremoniously upturned the bucket over the man’s head.

Scarlet jolted awake with a yelp, sputtering as he swiped water off his face. “Oi, bloody hell! That’s no way to wake a man, is it?”

“Rise and shine, you bilge rat,” Hook said blithely, his accent lilting as he fought back a smirk. “Duty calls, Scarlet.”

He levered his hand onto the ground, pushing himself up to sit straight. “I was wondering where you got off to, mate. Left us all behind to rot, yeah? What do you call it? Bad form?”

Hook held out his hand and hauled Scarlet to his feet. “Aye, well, waking up in Port Royal’s brig wasn’t exactly things going to plan.”

“Rotten luck, that is,” he agreed, shaking water drops from his skin. “But we’re all here now. Who’s the kid?”

Henry opened his mouth to respond, but felt the weight of Hook’s hand clap down on his shoulder and fell silent, glancing up at the pirate when his fingers squeezed. Henry raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask - thought he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d been introduced to Smee as someone who’d paid, but not at all to Will Scarlet.

“How about you and Smee go find Tink and round us up a decent crew,” he started, giving Henry’s shoulder a nudge back in the direction of the harbor, “and meet us back at the docks. With haste, lads, we’ll have no more naps today.”

“Aye, Captain,” Smee agreed quickly, shoving Scarlet off in the direction of the tavern they’d left, and Henry watched them leave.

Henry heard Hook clear his throat some paces away before hurrying to catch up to the pirate’s broad strides. “I thought we’d be picking a crew,” Henry prompted. “Why’d you send them to do it?”

Hook kept this eyes on their surroundings, his gaze darting around every person, alleyway, and dark corner. “Nothing to worry about, lad,” he said. “Smee usually lines up some able-bodied sods looking to crew up, and I pick from the lot.”

“He seemed scared of you,” Henry observed, and Hook threw his head back and laughed.

“He damn well should be,” Hook affirmed, tugging Henry closer to his side with his hook as they passed another pair of men fighting in the streets, his hand falling to his sword at his belt. “Smee was meant to be watching my back the last time I had a, well, meeting, and alas, I somehow ended up on a Naval ship, headed for the noose,” Hook shrugged. “Any other Captain worth his salt would throw him to the sharks for his mistakes.”

“But you won’t,” Henry said, startled. “Right?”

“No,” the pirate pressed his lips together. “He’s a fool at times, but not disloyal, and as you can well see, friends are rather hard to find.” He waved a hand to the street brawlers to make his point, and Henry bit back a smile. He felt the protective weight of a hand between his shoulder blades and thought that, maybe, Hook’s words weren’t quite true.

 

* * *

 

 

_Liam died in the springtime._

_Or at least, that’s what Killian remembered - the warmth on the sea breeze, the flowers peeking from their buds the few times they made p_ _ort. He_ _could smell pollen on the wind in his dreams, which upon waking, always made little sense to him._

_They were miles out to sea, after all._

_He and his brother were charting their course in Liam’s quarters, heads bent close over the desk, Killian’s finger tracing a line over the route they’d be taking back to Port Royal._

_Home, for the first time in six years._

_Liam cast him a smile, but both of their heads snapped up when they heard shouts from the deck._

_Killian emerged from the cabin, only to be hauled away and tied to the mast beside a handful of the crew. The others already laid dead on the deck, throats gaping open. He remembered the rhythmic knock of the pirate Captain’s leg and cane as he disappeared into Liam’s quarters. It was one of the longest moments of Killian’s life - struggling to get himself free, straining to hear anything, any sounds at all from the cabin - until the moment Gold walked out, his fingers locked tight around Liam’s arm. He’d dropped his cane to hold a wicked silver dagger to Liam’s_ _chest. Killian_ _yanked against the binds around his wrists. He wanted to shout out to his brother, to tell him to_ fight - _Liam was clearly stronger than the smaller man, could likely overpower him in an instant. He tugged against the mast until he scraped his wrists raw._

_“Take our gold, you filthy pirates,” Killian spat. “Just leave our men unharmed.”_

_“What’s left of them, you mean,” Gold retorted, the cruel smile inching farther across his face with every word. “Unfortunately, I cannot oblige you your request.”_

_Killian watched his fingers tighten around the handle of the dagger and lurched forward, only to be snapped backwards by his bindings. “No!”_

_Liam met his eyes, his gaze a storm of regret and something that looked like guilt - Killian would always wonder what the brother who’d raised him with an unwavering devotion could possibly have to feel guilty for, but he never got the chance to ask him._

_The dagger disappeared from his view, only to reappear in the next breath. The blade thrust through Liam’s heart as his body arched against the assault, a desperate last stand. He made a choked sound, a soft, strangled cry as crimson bloomed across the front of his shirt, a rapidly spreading stain. Gold braced a hand on his_ _shoulder, yanked_ _the dagger back out, and took a step back. With nothing left to hold him up, Liam dropped to his knees. He lifted a hand to his chest, dark eyebrows furrowing._

_Killian couldn’t breathe. He sucked in air but nothing stuck. A low hum rose up in his mind, his vision blurred, a violent red haze to match the blood spilling from his brother’s chest. He twisted his hands once more, distantly felt something pop, but slipped free and scrambled across the deck on his hands and knees, numb to the pain that laced up his arm. He gripped Liam’s coat, pulled his brother’s head into his lap, and felt his brother’s quiet gasp as keenly as if someone had struck Killian himself._

_“Liam, Liam,” he murmured, pressing one hand over the wound on his chest, and felt more than heard Liam’s sigh._

_“‘M sorry, Killian,” he whispered, his breaths ragged, and Killian leaned closer, fisting the fingers of his other hand into his brother’s sleeve._

_“No, don’t-” Killian gasped_ _._ _“Liam, don’t leave_ _me.” The_ _last few words came out on a harsh whisper, his voice raw and cracking. He bent at the waist, pressing his forehead against Liam’s, and felt his brother’s hands tighten on his arms._

_Liam whispered something, and Killian let his eyes fall closed._

_“Don’t tell them your name.”_

_“Such loyalty for your Captain. This is really quite sweet,” Gold drawled, and Killian’s head whipped up, eyes narrowing to thin slits._

_Killian’s_ _hands started to shake as he slowly rose to his feet, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. He relished in the familiar hiss of steel sliding against leather and drew up his blade, leveling it at the Captain’s throat before slashing at his skin._

_No blood poured._

_Killian stared, his breaths coming in heavy gulps. Several of the pirates moved forward, their own weapons raised, and he fully expected to die on his feet in front of his brother’s body and found the idea didn’t quite bother him. Gold smiled, holding up a hand to stop them._

_“You can try all you like, dearie, but it’s never going to work.”_

_“Even demons can be killed,” Killian hissed, sword still held aloft. “I will find a way.”_

_“Then you’d be doing me a favor,” Gold’s voice was low before he turned around, addressing his crew. “Back to the ship. We have what we came here for.”_

_Killian watched them go, chest heaving, before slowly sinking back down onto the deck, his legs no longer willing to support him. He pressed his hands to Liam’s chest, his breath hitching when no heartbeat met his palm. He looked down at his hands, stained crimson with his brother’s blood, before staring across the deck as the pirate ship left his shattered world in its wake and wondered what they could possibly have stood to gain from his loss._

 

He jerked awake to the feel of hands on his shoulders, shaking, and his hand flew out to the side, fingers curling around the hilt of the knife he kept at his bedside. He opened his eyes to see startled hazel staring back, and forced himself to relax, sinking back against his pillow as the tension drained from his shoulders. He loosened his fingers and dropped his knife, reaching up to scrub his palm over his face. “Henry, lad. I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Henry shrugged, unconcerned. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Killian tensed, casting a quick glance at the boy before sitting up, tugging his hand through his hair. “Why do you ask?” The words came out a little harsher than he intended, but Henry seemed unfazed.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Henry told him, shifting on his feet. “Will told me to come wake you up, said you were less likely to stab me than him.”

“He’d be right,” Killian scoffed, before shoving to his feet into his boots at the foot of the bed and reaching for his shirt. “What do you need then, lad?”

Henry’s eyes brightened. “Will you spar with me? I haven’t had anyone to practice with in a while, and if we’re going into a fight-”

Killian felt a pang in his chest, but forced the corners of his mouth to tilt upwards into something he hoped resembled a smile. “Aye. Though we’re going to do our best to keep you out of the line of fire, so to speak. There’s nothing wrong with brushing up on your swordsmanship.”

While Henry raced out of the cabin, his delighted whoop echoing out behind him, Killian followed more slowly, grabbing his clothing as he went and trying to shake the weariness out of his limbs before it weighed him down completely.

Henry showed talent with a sword, Killian could admit, and was an even faster learner. They’d sparred until sweat had Killian’s shirt sticking to his skin, the mid-day sun high in the sky above, and likely would have kept going if Henry hadn’t tripped over a line, knocking his head against a railing. The rush of concern had surprised him, certainly, as he’d ushered the boy into his cabin and seated him atop the desk before tending to the, thankfully, shallow wound that marred Henry’s forehead.

“Is Liam your brother?”

Killian’s hand jerked, and Henry hissed at the sudden pressure against his cut.

“Bloody hell, sorry. Aye,” he mumbled. “Liam was my brother, yes.”

Henry relaxed his shoulders, sitting still under his ministrations. “You were talking about him while I was trying to wake you up.”

“Nightmares,” Killian’s voice was gruff, even to his own ears.

Henry sat quietly for a moment, wincing while he cleaned the blood off the boy’s forehead. “Was it nice though, to have a brother?” he whispered, looking apprehensive, as though he thought Killian might rebuke him for the question.

Killian sighed. “Aye, it was nice. Liam was more than just a brother. He was...everything,” he kept his voice low. “He raised me, after our father left, and I...would’ve done anything for him. To make him proud of me.” He stopped, swallowing, and averted Henry’s searching gaze.

He saw him smile. “I bet he still would be,” Henry assured, and Killian pressed the linen against his forehead to slow the bleeding, feeling an old twinge of bitterness at his words.

“I rather doubt it, lad, but thank you for the sentiment.”

Henry frowned, and Killian realized he’d spoken without intending to. He picked at a hole in the knee of his trousers with the end of his hook, wondering why a boy barely older than a child was able to reach past the shell he’d surrounded himself with and find the things he buried so deeply inside he hoped they’d never see the light of day again, before dragging them out into the sun.

“Why do you say that?” Henry asked, reaching up a hand to hold his own bandage, and Killian scratched behind his ear, tugging absently on the hair there.

“My brother was a captain in the Royal Navy, and upon his death I swore vengeance in his name and turned pirate when no one else cared that he’d died, turned into one of the very same vile men we swore to purge from the seas,” Killian drawled, trying to inject some form of nonchalance into his voice. “I doubt he’d be proud of me now.”

Henry studied him intently, and Killian found himself squirming in his seat. “I don’t know much about brothers, Hook,” he started, tilting his head to one side, “but I’m sailing across the sea to find my mother, and I know she’d do the same for me. Why are you so sure your brother wouldn’t have done the exact same thing for you, if you’d died instead?”

Killian felt his mouth go dry, and swiped his tongue across his lips before opening them to speak, only to find he had nothing to say. Henry bobbed his head in a self-satisfied nod, before pulling the stained linen down from his forehead to look at it. “I think I’m done bleeding,” he said, dropping the bandage into Killian’s palm. “Can we spar again later?”

“Sure, lad,” he answered, pleased when his voice didn’t waver through the thickness in his throat. “As long as you promise not to wound yourself again.”

Henry offered him a blinding smile, achingly familiar, before dashing out of the cabin. Killian stared down at the bloody bandage in his hand for a moment before dropping it into the empty waste basket beside the desk, and wondered again how a thirteen-year-old child had managed to turn his entire world upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to huffleporg and Ady. Check out her artwork on tumblr! It's incredible! And thanks to all of you for reading, the response to this story is amazing and more than I expected. I flail over every comment.


	6. The Anchors of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy, welcome back. I hope you enjoy this one. Also I lied last week, I think THIS week is when we finally get to see Ady's art on tumblr! Check it out!

_ Killian sent a note with Ruby, asking Emma to meet him in his mother’s garden. _

_ Ruby was the only one who knew that the nature of their relationship had evolved from childhood friends into something more. Emma wasn’t entirely certain what to call it - he wasn’t courting her in any official capacity, as her father would never allow it - and though Emma felt more than a little bitterness over the fact, she knew it wouldn’t matte _ _ r. N _ _ ot in the long run. She felt confident that, as time passed and she rejected all other suitors, her father would come to honor her choice. Though many would laugh behind their hands at the idea that a  _ _ fourteen-year-old _ _ might know anything about love, Emma knew her own mind, and as such, she knew her choice.  _

_ Killian Jones had  _ always  _ been her choice. _

_ Emma grasped a handful of her favorite red gown, hustling down the path that led to the smaller dwellings closer to the harbor. The sun was just starting to set, casting the sky in reds and golds, and she’d just barely managed to escape after dinner. She’d taken her hair down in the way she knew Killian liked - loose yellow strands tumbling over her shoulders - because he always wrapped a curl around his fingers before tucking it behind her ear while they talked, heads bent close, secret smiles shared across the small space between them. She could smell sweet honeysuckle on the breeze as she hopped from paver to paver, before unlatching the gate and letting herself inside. _

_ The garden was a swirl of soft color - in the eleven years since Killian’s mother’s passing, the plants had flourished under his care. Emma skimmed her fingers over the bloom of a rose as she passed, before kneeling down in front of a plot of bright yellow flowers, dancing in the breeze. She smiled at the buttercups - Killian had planted them for her, he’d said - and gently plucked one loose and tucked it behind her ear. _

_ She heard the scolding click of a tongue behind her. _

_ “The flowers aren’t meant to be picked, lass,” Killian teased, walking up behind her. She could see the coal stains on his palms from his work, and his hair was a tousled mess, but Emma paid them no mind. _

_ She stood and turned to face him, offering him a coy smile. “But these are mine. How else will I enjoy them?” _

_ She knew what came next. Killian would tuck her close, perhaps brush a kiss against her cheek and say, “ _ Perhaps you’ll just have to keep coming back,”  _ but she could see the strain in his smile and the sadness lurking in his eyes, and she felt her shoulders tense in automatic response. _

_ “What’s wrong?” Emma asked. _

_ Killian looked away, studying the swaying daffodils next to him, and as his hand reached up to tug on his ear, Emma took a step closer and snatched his hand away with hers, giving his fingers a squeeze. He met her eyes again, brows drawn low _ _.  _ _ “Liam has procured me a Naval commission,” he  _ _ admitted. “He _ _ is being deployed deeper into the Caribbean and has arranged for me to join him.”  _

_ Emma felt her blood run cold, and her grip on his hand tightened. “You don’t have to go.” _

_ “I should,” Killian shrugged, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a bitter mockery of his smile, and he refused to meet her gaze again. “It wouldn’t do well to refuse the Royal Navy, love, and Liam is confident he’ll be up for a promotion soon. He believes this could be good for us, a chance to make something of the name Jones.” _

_“Why? I thought you were happy here, settling into your apprenticeship?”_ _Emma pleaded._

With me.

_ He made a soft sound, and lifted her hand to his mouth, lips brushing over her skin. “I am happy, Emma,” he spoke quietly, “but for how much longer? In two years, three perhaps, your father will start accepting suitors for your hand, and I will be laughed out of the Governor’s office for daring to ask.”  _

_ Emma felt a jolt run through her at his words, but as she shook her head to argue, he continued _ _ , _

_ “I’m nothing more than a blacksmith’s apprentice, and that’s putting it politely,” the words sounded like an echo and, with a rush of fury, Emma wondered whose voice was playing in his head, putting him down _ _. “B _ _ ut if I go with Liam, in a few years I could come back as  _ someone _ , perhaps someone worthy of you-” _

_ He sounded so sincere, nearly pleading with her to understand, but he stopped talking abruptly when Emma tore her hand free of his. She tried to ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes, and the resignation that took its place. _

_ “I don’t care what my father thinks!” Emma hissed, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. “You don’t have to prove anything! I’ve told you before, I don’t care what others say or think about us, Killian. I don’t care what job you have, or that you have this...ridiculous idea that you aren’t good enough. I think you are. I just  _ want you _ here.” _

_ Killian looked down and stayed quiet, and Emma knew him well enough to fill his silence for him. He didn’t believe her, didn’t agree, and he was going to leave her behind. _

_ “I don’t have much of a choice, love,” he finally spoke up, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. _

_ Emma didn’t stay in the garden much longer. _

 

_ The morning of Killian’s induction ceremony and the departure of the HMS Jewel was the clearest, warmest day Port Royal had seen in weeks. Emma wished the rain back, felt more aligned with the gray clouds and gloom, though she knew it was unlikely to delay the inevitable. _

_ She was stationed next to her father as Captain Walsh presented the Jones Brothers with their new swords, trying to stand still in her too-tight cream colored dress, and failing to keep her eyes off Killian. _

_ He was absolutely radiant in his new dress blues. His hair, usually hopelessly messy, was tied back at the nape of his neck with a ribbon she’d given him. His uniform was spotless, not a speck of coal or ash to be seen. His spine was straight and his shoulders back, and as she watched him flash a smile at his brother, she saw something in his eyes she couldn’t quite remember seeing there before. _

_ Pride. _

_ Emma suddenly wondered if, perhaps, she’d been quite wrong before. She’d been upset with him, for not seeing his worth in her eyes, for not hearing her when she said he didn’t have to join the Navy to win her approval - but looking at him then, basking in the glow of his new chance, Emma realized it wasn’t her opinion, her esteem, that he doubted. Killian Jones might not have anything to prove to her, but he obviously had a great many things to prove to himself.  _

_ The thought made her throat burn, and she blinked her eyes rapidly to keep them clear. She caught his eye, and the smile he offered her was as brilliant as she’d ever seen on him. She forced the corners of her mouth to tilt upwards in response, hoping it looked more like a grin than a grimace. _

_ The night before, he’d crept into the manor after nightfall. She’d been avoiding him, she remembered guiltily, more out of self-preservation than any lingering anger towards him, but he hadn’t confronted her. He’d offered her a chaste kiss, in case they didn’t get another goodbye, and brought her his old sword, the one he’d crafted for himself.  _

_ “In case you need it, if I’m not here to protect you,” he’d teased, his smile twisted with sadness. _

_ The look in his eyes had thawed her. If there was anything she couldn’t stand, it was the thought that Killian was hurting, and she hated to be the one to cause it.  _

_ “Oh? When have I needed your protection? If I remember, I was the one to save you from drowning,” she’d retorted, forcing a sly smile, and it had the effect she’d intended. _

_ The lines of his crinkled brow smoothed out, his eyes lightening in the wake of her forgiveness, and he’d twined his fingers into her curls with a smile that could dissipate the darkest of storms. “Humor me, Emma.” _

_ Standing in the bright sunlight, Emma shivered at the memory. No one spoke her name like he did, wrapped in a whispered caress, with a blatant reverence on his tongue.  _

_ She watched Liam throw an arm over Killian’s shoulders, drawing him in close, a broad grin on the older Jones’ face, and Emma tried to remind herself, not for the first time, that this was supposed to be a  _ good  _ thing.  _

_ But when she closed her eyes she saw stormy skies, ships tossed about on waves the size of mountains. Ruthless pirates, with black smiles and wicked blades. She saw blue eyes closing, a body tossed into the seas, and wondered if she would even know, should the worst happen. Sailors died every day. Emma let out a shaky breath, thinking that, perhaps, she was simply doomed to lose the ones she loved. _

_ That evening, she sat up on the highest hill in Port Royal, overlooking the cove, and watched as the HMS Jewel cut a bold path through the water. As she clutched at an old silver ring on a chain hanging from her throat, she pretended she could see a dark, tousle-haired head pacing the deck, and hoped that, if he looked back, he could see her, a statue on the cliff side. _

_ She watched until the masts faded from view, the sails a mere flicker on the horizon, stared as the sun sank down low in the sky and it, too, disappeared into the sea, before rising from her vigil, dusting grass off her skirts, and walking home alone.  _

 

* * *

* * *

 

  
  


“Captain!”

Killian sighed audibly. He stood at the helm, alone for what felt like the first time since they’d left Tortuga’s harbor, and had enjoyed the silence of keeping company only with the stars. Though he’d found himself truly enjoying Henry’s presence in the days since they’d stolen away from Port Royal, with a full crew onboard now, he found it hard to believe he’d once loathed being alone.

“What is it you’d like to yell at me about now, Tink?” he asked, easily recognizing the voice without need to turn around.

She came to stand next to him, laying a small hand on the wheel, and Killian cast a quick glance in her direction. Her blond hair - closer to the color of spun straw rather than strands of sunshine, but he chose not to dwell on the thought - was piled atop her head, and her gaze was shrewd when her gaze slid in his direction.

“The boy, Henry,” she started, and Killian bit the inside of his cheek to contain his frown. “He says we’re going to rescue his mother.” 

Her voice was low and thoughtful, and it grated on his already frayed nerves. He dropped his hook on the wheel and lifted his hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Aye, what of it?” 

He kept his eyes on the sea ahead, but could see the corners of her mouth curl up. “Scarlet found the idea quite funny. He’s certain we’re going after Gold and your ship, which sounds a little more believable, I have to say. After all, isn’t it you who swore you’d only ever risk your life for two things?” 

Killian let out his breath in a drawn-out huff. “I do hope you’ll be arriving at your point quite soon, love.” 

Tink scoffed, her nose crinkling, and she placed a hand over his on the helm. “I’m saying, many would believe it’s rather out of character for Captain Hook to take to the sea and carry out a dashing rescue, but I remember a different man, one who didn’t hesitate to raise his sword in defense of a girl, one headed to the noose because her town called her a witch for knowing the names of the stars .” Her fingers tightened over his in a gentle squeeze, and Kilian felt some of the tension in his shoulders release. 

He opened his mouth to reply, but hastily pressed his lips together when Smee emerged from below to take his shift. “It’s about time, Mr. Smee. You know how much I abhor waiting.” 

“Captain, I have to ask. Are you sure about this?” he started. 

Tink withdrew her hand, casting a frown in the other man’s direction.

“I know we need to get our ship back, but is this really the best plan? Chasing Gold to Isle de Muerta, with the kid thinking his mother stands a chance at rescue? The girl was dead the moment she boarded his ship, we all know it ,” Smee said. 

Killian felt the words hit him like a blow to the chest, and his breath hissed out through his teeth. “ _ My _ ship, Mr. Smee, and make no mistake - I have no intentions of changing our heading. We sail after the  _ Jolly Roger _ , you knew that when we came aboard. Question me again at your peril,” he snarled, letting the unwelcome rush of  _ fear _ spurn his anger. He took a purposeful stride away from the helm, diving his hand into his pocket and curling his fingers around his flask, and heard Tink sigh behind him.

Smee’s throat bobbed as he offered a shaky nod, wisely keeping silent, and placed his hands on the wheel. Killian stalked away, boots thudding against the deck as he put some space between himself and the others, and for the second time in as many days, allowed his thoughts to stray to what he usually kept buried deep.

_ What could the Crocodile possibly want with Emma Swan? _

He tipped his flask up against his lips, relishing in the burn. He knew Gold well enough to feel quite certain that he hadn’t killed her, at least, not yet. He wouldn’t have taken her aboard only to murder her at sea. No, he needed her for something, and as the only thing he cared for anymore was breaking his curse, Killian felt distinctly uneasy as he wondered how Emma could possibly have found herself in the middle of this mess - a blood feud of seven years and a curse nearly older than she was - and, not for the first time, he felt his promise to Henry weigh heavy on his heart. 

At the bow of the ship, Killian traded his flask for his compass and stared down at the needle, ever resolute in its heading. 

“Which is it then, Captain?” Tink’s voice was soft, but still managed to tear him from his musings with all the violence of a gunshot. “Love, or revenge?” 

Killian shoved the compass back into his pocket and lifted his face to the stars. 

“What do you think?” he asked after several moments had passed, the words rougher than he’d like, and leaving him empty in their wake. “Love, my dear, brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment. I wish for nothing more than to make the Crocodile suffer and to take back what’s mine - my ship.” 

Next to him, Tink shook her head, but he stayed silent. He had nothing more to offer her.

He heard retreating footsteps, and for a moment, was left with nothing but the sounds of the ocean, the ceaseless meeting of waves against the hull.

Liam’s voice lilted in his ears, unbidden. 

_ Why are you scared to admit it’s a little of both? _

Killian fumbled for his flask and took another swig of rum, and let his eyes fall closed. He knew what Tink didn’t - that his chance at love, if he’d ever had one at all, had died long ago. He’d only admitted to it as he watched all he had left sink to the depths of the sea, falling away to where he, for once, could not follow. 

_ You mark my words, boy. A wastrel like you will never be enough for a girl like her. You’re nothing, and in time, you’ll see I’m right. _

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Emma stumbled over driftwood and caught sand spurs in the flesh of her bare  feet. As she struggled to keep up with the too quick, too unforgiving pace of the pirates on either side of her as they all but dragged her across the beach and into the jungle that lay ahead, she bit down on her lip and kept her pain to herself.

Reluctant as she was to show him any sort of attention, Emma found herself leaning closer to Neal on her right. His fingers weren’t as tightly wound around her forearm as the other  pirate’s were , nor did he look quite as menacing or smell as foul, and Emma thought there must be something to preferring the devil you know, for when her shoulder brushed against his as she shrank against his side, his grasp loosened further.

She chanced a quick look over her shoulder before turning back around and dropping her chin to her chest, railing against the hopelessness that welled up inside. 

There were too many men . Any attempt at fleeing would not only be foolish, but entirely useless to boot.

Sand gave way to shed fronds underfoot, and as they passed through brush and low hanging tree branches, Emma looked up as Neal pushed aside a palm frond, and couldn’t quite contain the gasp that flew from her throat.

They stood before the huge, gaping mouth of a cave. She watched as Gold limped forward, picking his way over the stone with his cane, and stepped into the entrance. He held a torch aloft in his free hand, and though Emma knew the fire would guide the way, the darkness inside seemed to swallow the light so completely she could barely see what remained of its glow.

Neal exchanged a glance with the pirate at her other side and both stepped forward, but Emma dug her heels into the cool, soft loam beneath her feet. She bucked backwards against their grasp as her heart sped up with the raw fear that flooded through her veins, potent enough to drown in. She couldn’t begin to fathom  _ why _ , but she knew one thing for certain. 

Nothing good could dwell in a place like that, and if she went into the cave, she felt quite sure that she would not come back out. 

The burly pirate on her left dug his filthy nails into her skin, and Emma hissed. Neal sighed, giving her other arm a lighter tug. 

“Come on, Emma. You’ll  be fine.”

Emma chewed on her bottom lip. Just because he believed what he was saying, she knew, didn’t make it true.

Gold stopped just inside the cave’s mouth, turning slowly to face her, and Emma felt a chill slide over her skin as his lips curled into a feral smile. 

“Let us not waste any more time, Miss Jones. There’s nothing here to fear, and if we succeed, all of us will leave this island  _ alive. _ ”

_ Lie. _

Emma narrowed her eyes, but when Neal pulled on her arm again, she complied, allowing him to pull her forward. Gold cast her one last look, his smile pulled too tight and his eyes full of shadows, before turning his back and leading the group down the narrow passage, into the depths of the darkness that awaited. 

She took one step inside, then another, feeling a shiver skitter down her spine. She could  _ feel  _ the darkness in the air, a living, tangible thing - it pressed against her skin and stole her breath, leaving her with the urge to inhale deeply and hold it inside, for fear of never drawing another.

Neal’s breath puffed out in a cloud, hanging in a lingering fog in front of his face before dissipating. His eyes darted around, and his fingers clamped on to her arm with a little more pressure.

“Have you never been here before?” Emma whispered. She straightened her shoulders, his obvious fear making her want to hold hers in a little closer. Her father would often tease her, she remembered suddenly, accusing her of holding hardest to her stubbornness if nothing else, and the thought would have made her laugh, if she weren’t so near to crying instead. She bent one elbow and pinched herself through her dress, hard.

“No,” Neal answered, tugging her closer against his body, and for once, Emma allowed it. The warmth of another person interested her more in that moment than freezing alone.

They walked in silence, footsteps echoing off the passage’s walls, keeping time with the rhythmic thunk of Gold’s strides and the constant dripping of water somewhere overhead. The ceiling above her opened up quite suddenly, giving way to a larger cavern. Through the dark, Emma could see Gold hand off his torch, and one by one, flames erupted across the cave. Flickering light spilled across the rocks, doubling their shadows over the walls, and Emma’s hand flew to her throat, fingers seeking her ring, only to feel her terror multiply when she couldn’t find it. 

Stalactites hung down from the ceiling, their tapered points barely out of reach, and gold and silver of all kinds spilled out from chests and littered the floor. It looked to be a scene from one of Henry’s books, if not for the overwhelming sense that something was horribly, horribly  _ wrong _ . Rocks surrounded a small pool, sunken into the middle of the cavern. The still water inside looked unnatural to Emma’s eyes - black and thick, with a cold mist rising off the surface. She could hear her heartbeat, a sharp, staccato drumming in her ears. The urge to run was so powerful that her feet itched with it. She swiped her damp, clammy palms over her skirts and felt the comforting presence of the kitchen knife she’d tucked against her corset. 

_ My son will not lose his mother here today. _

She repeated the mantra in her mind as Gold abandoned his cane next to the water’s edge and stepped into the pool. He tipped his head back, eyes on the cavern’s ceiling, while his breath came in short puffs. 

“For twenty-two years, we’ve felt hunger we could not feed. We’ve felt weariness drag at our bones, but we could not sleep. We’ve been turned into foul creatures, beasts out of nightmares or even hell itself, and we have felt nothing or life as we once knew it to be. I have lost everything to this curse, drowned amid an ocean of darkness without the barest flicker of light, until today. Today, we will once more walk among the living.” 

Emma startled as the gathered pirates shouted their approval, the cavern taking up their roars and doubling them back. Gold’s eyes landed on hers, and Emma held her breath.

“Bring her forward .” His  voice was barely more than a rasped whisper, and she felt her spine stiffen.

Neal’s arm slipped around her waist, hauling her up the rocks and over to the water’s edge. The pool was dark, fathomless, and Emma bucked away from Neal, though her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt without her permission. She turned her face up to hs with one last, desperate plea. “Don’t do this to me.” 

His mouth pressed into a straight line, and Emma could swear she saw remorse flash through his eyes before he looked away, resolute. “It’s not going to kill you.” 

She felt his hands on hers, pulling her fingers away, and when her grip broke he pushed at her shoulders and took a large step backwards, abandoning her completely. 

Emma shifted to catch her balance, one foot hitting the water, and she sucked in a breath in one sharp inhale. Any remaining warmth she’d held left the water leached from her skin. Her hands started to shake.

Gold stared at her, his gaze as cutting as the blade she held close, and he raised a hand out to her, an offering. “Come here, Miss Jones.” 

_ Just to stay alive _ , she reminded herself, before taking a determined step forward, her other foot sliding into the water. She tightened her fingers into a fist before releasing them, one by one, and carefully laid her hand in his.

He smiled, though his eyes stayed empty. He pulled a knife from his belt, and though Emma yanked her arm back, he held fast. Gold lifted the blade, pointing it skyward before lowering it to her palm, and slowly, almost gently, slid it across her skin. 

Emma let herself have the moment of pride, for not letting a sound pass her lips.

He tossed the knife to one side, and it landed with a resounding clatter on the rocks at the edge. His fingers squeezed hers and blood welled to the surface, crimson beads bubbling up from the cut. He delved his hand back into a pocket, pulling forth the ring he’d claimed from her that morning, and pressed it firmly into her hand. 

Emma hissed at the unexpected pressure, the fresh wound stinging in protest, and fixed him with a scowl. 

Gold simply turned her hand over in his, squeezed once more, and released her. 

Her hand opened, and she dropped the ring into the pool, watching as it sank beneath the surface, a glint of silver amid the black.

The crowd around them fell silent, and Emma wondered if they were even still breathing. She looked up at Gold to find his eyes closed, head tipped back, and she carefully shuffled backwards, retreating from the frozen pool.

A beat of heavy silence passed, then another, before she heard Neal speak up from behind her.

“Well, did it work?” 

Emma jumped at the violent crack of a gunshot and looked around wildly.

“No,” another voice shouted from further back in the cave, “a bullet ain’t killed him, it didn’t bloody work!”

Emma’s pulse picked up. Her body tensed, and she kept her face blank and her eyes trained on Gold, but she didn’t get the rage she’d expected.

He let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it. “A sacrifice, then,” he whispered, and Emma felt certain she was the only one who heard through the shouting of the pirates surrounding them. She took another step back, hand falling to the makeshift pocket she’d slit into her bodice, but the Captain didn’t look her way.

“Son, come here a moment.”

Neal closed the space between them, his hand coming to rest on Gold’s shoulder. “Why didn’t it work, papa?” he hissed the words out in a low whisper . “We got the last piece of the silver, the youngest of Jones’ blood - that’s everything, right?” 

Emma watched, feet frozen to the spot as Gold lifted his hand to cover Neal’s. “Not everything, my boy,” his voice sounded almost... _ sad _ , she thought, and her eyes narrowed. 

For nearly the first time in the span of their unfortunate acquaintance, he didn’t seem to be lying, and Emma thought back to the hedge witch’s spell, the parchment folded and tucked away next to the knife she’d secreted away.

Gold knelt slowly, his hand curling around the knife he’d cut her with, and as he straightened back  up. Emma’s breath hitched.

_ Fight or flight, Swan? _

“It appears the instructions I received were correct, and if I wish to break this curse, I have to make a sacrifice. I have to give up the thing I love most left in this world.” His words came out slowly, his voice breaking at the end. 

“Papa?” Neal’s voice sounded  _ concerned _ , his voice thick with a careful warmth he’d never held for her, and even despite the fact, Emma took a hasty step forward, throwing out a hand.

Gold’s breath left him in a hiccup. He thrust his arm forward, and Neal’s body jerked, a puppet on a snapped string, and a scream tore from her throat before she could stop it. 

The Captain yanked the blade free and let his son crumple forward into the dark pool. Gold fell with him, dropping to his knees and letting out a wail that had the hairs on Emma’s arm standing on end. She watched, horrified, as crimson swirled with black across the water’s surface, lapping at the pool’s edge, and wondered distantly if her blood would be the next to spill across the stones. 


	7. 6: Whither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hi hello! This was one of my absolute favorites to write, so I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. Thanks as always to huffleporg and Ady (did you see her artwork last week? It's gorgeous!)

_As the years passed by, Emma saw Killian everywhere_ _:_

_She’d hear a sound in the night and jolt awake, expecting him to be by her bedside, eyes gleaming mischief as he begged her to come outside and spar. When_ _she would realize that_ _she was alone in the room, she would roll back over on her side and plead to whoever would hear her words to keep him safe._

_He’d never been a huge fan of sleeping in the dark, and Emma would often wonder how he fared, below deck in a small cabin, where she doubted his older crewmates would allow to him to keep a lantern lit for all the midnight hours._

_She’d be out in the town and see a mop of dark hair or the white flash of a toothy smirk, and her stomach would turn over when she recognized the eyes weren’t the same, or the smile not quite right._

_Emma saw him most often in his mother’s garden, where she spent several of her hours a week, begging Killian’s flowers to survive without him. She’d be kneeling in the dirt in a pair of his outgrown trousers, pruning stems and watering beds, and she’d see a flash of blue and expect to see him push his way through the honeysuckle bushes, only to frown at the swaying forget-me-nots he’d planted before he left.  She always picked a buttercup blossom before she headed home, tucked it behind her ear, and felt foolish every time._

_What she wouldn’t give, to hear him scold her for picking his flowers._

 

_It was three years after his deployment that Emma truly felt she’d gone insane._

_She’d stood in line at the market with Ruby at her side, shifting on her feet to try and alleviate some of her discomforts - the child in her belly had grown so much that hiding her condition became fruitless, and with only a few more weeks to go, standing in the sun had grown to a sort of torture. Emma pointedly ignored the stares. The rumors of her scandal had spread, certainly, but she’d had a long nine months to get over it, and taking Ruby with her whenever she left the manor helped; her friend had no qualms with letting passersby know just how unwelcome their opinions were about the Governor’s daughter._

_She waited in line next to Ruby while the maid haggled over the price of bread, when someone caught her eye._

_White linen pants, Navy-issue boots up to the knee, and hair as dark as a starless night - she spun around, and though the rapid movement left her head swimming as she searched the crowd behind her, she felt her heart start to pound a merciless rhythm against her ribs. The baby started to kick in protest._

_For a moment, she was absolutely certain she’d seen him._

_Even the line of his shoulders had seemed right._

_But when she scanned the sea of townspeople, all clamoring for a place in line or for the attention of a merchant, the one she was looking for was gone._

_Emma turned back around slowly, clutching the ring at her neck. She felt the rush in her ears, the burn in her throat that hope left in its wake as it died away, and wondered if Killian’s ghost would ever leave her be._

 

_Sometimes, Emma took Henry to the garden with her, if the weather was nice._

_Since the birth of her son, she found herself with less idle time on her hands, and as she was loathe to leave him in the care of nursemaids too often, she couldn’t quite escape the manor as often as she once had._

_She’d begged her father’s groundskeeper to send someone to the old Jones house, and though they assured her the garden was in good hands, Emma couldn’t stay away completely._

_As he grew, Emma taught Henry to care for the flowers, how to use a gentle hand as they sat hip to hip in the dirt. He would listen attentively to her instructions and liked watering the plants best._

_Despite their best efforts, she knew Killian’s garden was suffering._

_As springtime rose and marked the ninth year past since he’d left Port Royal in search of the worth he felt he was missing, only one daffodil pushed its way through the dirt, alone where there had once bloomed hundreds, and Emma thought one of the honeysuckle bushes looked sick._

_Henry had his hands in the dirt, his bright laughter warming the evening air, and though Emma wasn’t certain whether he was simply playing or dispersing more daffodil bulbs as she’d instructed, she couldn’t help but smile._

_At the sound of footsteps, she_ _turned. As_ _she watched a lone Naval officer walk up the hill towards them, his hair covered by his hat and his head bowed against the setting sun, Emma felt her smile fade and her breath catch._

_She stood up, pushing past the gate and into the road, desperate to catch sight of the man’s face._

_He looked up, and her heart sank._

_His eyes were brown._

_“Lady Swan, good evening to you,” the officer greeted_ _._ _“I trust you and Master Henry are in good health. Might I inquire, is the Governor still in his officers at this time of day?”_

_“Yes, he was still in a meeting when we left the manor,” she told him, forcing a smile as the man nodded, “though I am surprised you have need of him at this hour.”_

_“Unfortunate news, I’m afraid,” the man shrugged, taking a step as if to continue on, and Emma frowned at the weight in his words._

_“Has something happened?” Emma asked._

_The officer looked around, eyebrows drawn together, before reaching up to remove his hat from where it perched on a balding head._

_“The HMS Jewel,” he started, and Emma was certain she stopped breathing, “was attacked by damned pirates - excuse me, milady - and our prize flagship has been commandeered.”_

_His words rattled around in her head with an almost physical force, starting up a pounding behind her eyes from the strength of their echo. Emma felt her hands start to shake, and it took her a moment to find her voice. “And...and the crew of the Jewel?” she asked. Any other time, she would have berated herself for the tremble in her voice, but in the moments - what felt more like hours - before he spoke again, Emma cast her eyes skyward._

_Please._

_The honeysuckle bush was sick, she thought. She felt ridiculous for thinking of it then._

_The officer in front of her shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable, as though realizing he shouldn’t be spreading his news before he reached the Governor’s ear. He must have found something in her expression he couldn’t deny, though, for he took a deep breath before continuing._

_“Gone, I’m afraid,” he said gravely_ _._ _“Captain Jones is dead, and the rest of the crew is reportedly lost as well. Pirates are not well known for their mercy.”_

_His tone was gentle, and Emma dimly wondered what she showed in her expression to inspire it. She simply felt frozen._

_Dead._

_The man must have moved on, up the path. Emma must have fetched Henry and walked back up the hill to the manor, as the sun died away in the sky overhead._

_She must have tucked her son into bed, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and bid him sweet dreams._

_Emma wasn’t certain how she ended up at the top of the highest hill in Port Royal, staring up at a moonless sky and berating the stars, but as she sank to her knees in the grass and pulled fistfuls free of the ground, the dam inside her finally broke_ _._ _Tears fell freely_ _, scalding their brands into her skin. She screamed curses to the sea, her voice lost in the wind, until the swelling tides of rage and grief receded, leaving her empty._

_She woke with shredded grass stuck to her cheeks and looked up to see the sun breaching the horizon, swallowing the stars. She swiped her palm over her face and stood up, brushed off her clothes_ _. Seeing_ _no sails on the skyline, she clutched a hand to the ring that hung from her neck, tucked it into her shirt collar, turned her back on the dawn, and walked home to her son._

 

 

* * *

* * *

  


When the soles of Henry’s boots hit the sands of Isle de Muerta as he hopped out of the rowboat, he felt a shudder wrack his body and stared out at the trees that stood just beyond the beach. He dropped a hand onto the grip of the sword hanging from his belt - a gift from Hook, but only if he _desperately_ needed to use it - and realized almost immediately what it was about the island that bothered him first.

It was silent.

All he could hear was the sea lapping onto the sand and the muffled voices of the pirates behind him as they disembarked onto the beach, but nothing of the island itself. He couldn’t hear any birds - no seagulls circling overhead, cawing as they sought scraps, no chirps or calls coming from deeper into the rainforest that loomed ahead. No cricket songs came from the shadows between the trees. He felt the absence down into his bones and sensed there was far more to the darkness before them than that of the simplicity of close-growing trees.

Henry knew from his books, that animals were the first to flee in the presence of something unnatural, something _wrong_.

“Hook,” he murmured the name, twisting in the sand to look back over his shoulder, and saw the same grim look reflected in the man’s eyes.

“Aye, I know. Keep your wits about you, lad,” he said, his voice low, “and we’ll be right as rain.”

Henry nodded, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. Hook clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning, gesturing to Scarlet with his hook. “Keep watch, mate, and be ready to set sail at a moment’s notice. We’ll be in rather dire straits once we get inside that cave, I’m sure, so -”

“What about the _Jolly Roger_?” Scarlet interrupted, and Henry watched as Hook’s eyes narrowed, and felt his fingers tighten on his arm.

“Aye, what of it?”

“Well, she’s moored on the other side of the cove,” Scarlet started, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. “Are we not here to take her back?”

Henry stiffened, his back snapping up straight. “We’re here for a ship? We have to go after my mom!” He pulled away from Hook’s grasp, his chest heaving as he felt the keen sting of betrayal, as harsh as any blow. His fingers tightened around the sword grip, and he wondered for one, wild moment if he’d have to use it against his companions.

He had the blade halfway out of its sheath when he saw Hook scrub his palm over his face, his breath leaving him in an impatient sigh. The pirate shot a glare in Scarlet’s direction, and his shoulders sank a bit beneath the heat of it. When he spoke, it was in a tone Henry had heard him use with the others, but never with him, in what he considered his _Captain voice_.  

“Put that thing away before you hurt yourself. Henry, listen to me,” he snapped. “We are going after your mother. I made you a promise, did I not?” He thrust a finger in Scarlet’s direction, his words booking no argument. “You stay here, do as I say, or walk the bloody plank, understood?”

“We’re on dry land, Cap, I can’t very well walk the plank here can I?” Scarlet grumbled, holding up his hands when Hook took a determined step in his direction - Henry raised his eyebrows, worried for a moment that he truly intended to throttle the other man where he stood - but Hook came to a stop when they stood face to face, and something unspoken seemed to pass between the two pirates before Scarlet took a single step backwards. “Aye, mate, go on then, save the lass, though I’ve no clue where your head is at.”

Hook leveled him with one last glare before Henry tugged on the sleeve of his coat. He turned without a word, dropping his hand onto Henry’s shoulder once more and he felt the pirate press him forward, stalking in the direction of the trees. As the sand underfoot gave way to leaves and brush, Henry could feel a tremor pass through Hook’s hand on his back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the man avert his eyes, the line between his brows furrowed deep.

He seemed almost... _nervous_.

Henry sighed, his shoulders heaving with the effort as he pulled away, coming to a stop in front of them. “You’re going to ditch me and go after your ship, aren’t you?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but the words came out flat and resigned. He felt a jolt of surprise when Hook’s eyes snapped to his, the pirate’s blue gaze going wide.

“W-what?” he sputtered. “Henry, bloody hell, no. I meant what I said, lad, and we can’t very well march into this damned cave if you think I’m going to throw you to the sharks at any given moment.”

“But it is your ship, isn’t it?” Henry argued. “The one Captain Gold took my mother on. The _Jolly Roger_. I’ve heard everyone talking on the ship, and they say you’d do anything to get it back.” He knew how accusing his words sounded, but in that moment, he didn’t care.

Hook sighed. “Well, not quite _anything_ , it would seem,” he muttered, casting his gaze upwards to the sky before looking back to Henry, his gaze serious. “Listen, mate. The _Jolly Roger_ is my ship, that much is true, and I do intend to retrieve her from the Crocodile’s grasp, but I have not told you a lie - if we can only leave this cursed island with one victory today, it will be with your mother at our side, I swear it.”

The last of his words came out on a breath, a harsh whisper laden with more intensity than he’d bargained for, but when Henry met his stare, the pirate didn’t waver. He held out his hand, palm up, and after a moment. When Henry reached out and clasped his hand around his fingers, Hook’s mouth curled into a broad, genuine smile.

“Now, lad. Let’s go find the Lady Swan.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

For several moments, Emma couldn’t hear anything save the desperate pounding of her own heart, could feel nothing but the frantic call in her blood, the overwhelming need to _run_ , as far and as fast as she could, but she stayed locked where she stood, as though her feet had truly frozen to the stones.

Distantly, she became aware of Gold’s cries, grief-stricken howls that made her blood run cold. He still knelt in the pool, the bloody, brackish water coming up the man’s hips - an oddity she’d noticed as she’d stood in it, that the water looked so much deeper than it was - and held his dying son in his arms, gnarled fingers twisting in the collar of Neal’s shirt. His head was bowed low, and he made no attempts to muffle his keening, broken sobs. After a beat, Emma realized he was saying something, repeating the words over and over again.

_“I’m so sorry,”_ he choked out, shoulders wracked with his rapid breathing, and Emma took a hasty step backwards before glancing around the cavern.

The pirates that stood around them were still and utterly silent, until one voice called out, his words echoing throughout the cave.

“Is the curse broken?”

A low hum rose up in her mind, and Emma remembered something suddenly, something rather crucial.

Her name was not, in fact, Emma Jones.

Gold had kept her, brought her to this island, shed her blood into the dark pool, and had murdered his own son to break the curse he’d suffered for more than half her lifetime.

She knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he would not hesitate to cut her down where she stood if he learned why his attempts had failed.

Gold lifted his head, the motion slow and mechanical, and Emma sucked in a breath at the absolute _emptiness_ in his eyes, as though he were simply a shell and nothing alive remained at all.

“Test it,” he barked the order. “Let the least cowardly among you fools step forward and put a bullet into my heart.”

No one moved. Emma held her breath, afraid to make a sound.

“Do it!” Gold growled, and one of them stumbled forward, the pirate with the wooden eye who’d dragged Emma from her home.

His steps were hesitant, expression wary, as though he approached a wounded animal and half expected to be mauled for his trouble, and Emma found herself sympathizing with him.

She watched as he dropped a knotted hand to his belt, fingers wrapping around a pistol, and drawing it free. He leveled it to Gold’s chest, his functioning eye blown wide. His throat bobbed as he asked, “Y-you want me to shoot you, Captain?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” he spat out, the words breathy and harsh, and as the crewman pulled the trigger, Emma closed her eyes.

The cavern was silent but for the reverberating shot, a deafening crack that Emma felt down to her bones, and after one, two heartbeats, the pirates in the cave descended into chaos.

“He’s not dead!”

“We’re still bloody cursed!”

Emma heard the shouts, let out the breath she’d held as her lungs burned, and when she opened her eyes, Gold’s stare was fixed on hers.

“You,” he hissed, getting to his feet with difficulty. One hand plunged into the water, resurfacing with her silver signet ring, the chain winking at her in the torchlight, and he thrust it at her as he rose to his full height. His eyes were blown black with rage, and as her fingers closed numbly around her beloved necklace, squeezing it until the cold, wet metal dug into her palm, Emma could admit, to herself, at least, that the pirate Captain had never terrified her more.

“Are you not the youngest child of Brennan Jones?” he demanded, taking one shuffling step in her direction, then another. Emma swallowed, eyes darting between him and any possible escape. Her free hand fell to the tear in her bodice, fingers closing around the handle of the knife she hid, though she knew she needed more than a blade to save herself. She needed an opportunity, or perhaps more, a miracle.

“I-” she started, hating the waver in her voice, and startled as Gold’s hands clasped over her shoulders, giving her body a vicious shake.

As her teeth snapped together, Emma narrowed her eyes, slamming her fist into his chest, fingers wound tightly around her chain. He tightened his grip, nails digging into her skin.

“Who are you?” his voice rose to a hoarse shout, something manic in his eyes, and Emma lifted her chin, sending up a quick apology to her son.

“My name is Emma Swan,” she spit the words out, meeting his furious gaze with a glare of her own, and injected as much false sincerity into her voice as she could muster, “and I do so apologize if I’ve ruined your day, _Captain_.”

She felt his hands on her start to shake, and when he lifted one and reared back, she expected the blow. She bit down on her cheek and tasted blood from the slap, but kept her eyes narrowed and held her smirk in place.

Suddenly, Gold smiled, a twisted, terrible thing, and Emma’s expression slipped. “You might not be a Jones, Miss Swan,” he hissed, rank breath sliding over her cheek as he leaned in close, “but I do believe you know who is.”

“You killed him,” Emma snapped, not even sparing a moment of shame for the way her voice broke. “You _murdered_ him, seven years ago. Guess you’ll never break your curse. You deserve this suffering.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, something contemplative swimming in his gaze. “I’ll deal with you in a moment,” he said, and as quickly as he’d grabbed her, he thrust her away from him.

She lost her footing on the slick stones, ducking her chin to her chest as she fell, shielding herself with her arms as she hit the ground, hard. Emma lay still where she landed, taking quick stock of her injuries - mere bruises, it seemed - and opened her eyes.

He’d thrown her away from the pool, out of sight. He had his back to her as he knelt down beside his son, spitting orders or insults at anyone who dared come close. For the first time in days, Emma felt her mouth break into a bright, genuine smile.

She finally had an opportunity and maybe, just maybe, she didn’t need that miracle after all.

Emma carefully rolled to her knees, keeping the chain clasped in one hand, her knife in the other, and with one last glance over her shoulder, started to crawl away.

One hand, then the other. Her knees scraped on the stones, but she barely felt it. She pushed forward, counting her paces in her head until the voices behind her began to drift away as distance spanned between her and her captors. She glanced back over her shoulder, and when she could see nothing of the pirates save the small, flickering glow of their torches, she rose to her feet, kept her shoulders hunched low, and started to walk further into the darkness. She slid her fingertips along the slick, grimy cave walls to keep her going in what she believed - hoped, at the very least - to be the right direction.

Emma knew she had barely minutes to go before Gold noticed she was gone. Any moment now, the shouts would ring out behind her and she’d hear the pound of footsteps, and she’d run. To where, she hadn’t the faintest clue, but she would rather run and fight for her life than stand and wait for Gold to kill her for her deception, a docile lamb to the slaughter.

She had her son to get back to, after all.

She pushed through a crack in the wall, felt the rock graze and claw at her skin, but she didn’t care. When she squeezed out the other side, her eyes immediately fell on the light that lay ahead, and the warmth of the hope that bloomed inside her chest was near to burning. She darted forward, the slap of her bare feet picking up tempo, her breathing harsh and loud to her own ears when she heard something else and skidded to a halt.

_Voices._

Emma’s fingers curled more tightly around the knife in her grip when she heard the tell-tale sounds of a sword being drawn, and she fought the urge to curse aloud. She bent her knees, dropping so naturally into a fighting stance that felt as though she’d learned it days ago, rather than years. She brought one fist up to block the torchlight from her eyes as its carrier held it aloft, the chain dangling from her knuckles, and narrowed her eyes against the fire’s glow. She allowed herself no more than a split second to register two people approaching her before deciding she could outrun them, and was a mere heartbeat away from moving when one of them spoke again, in a voice that made her heart stop and her knife clatter to the floor.

“Wait, don’t attack! Mom, is that you?”

Emma felt rooted where she stood. “Henry?” His name came out on a ragged whisper, her voice cracking. He then rushed forward, and she could see _him_ , her beautiful boy - messy hair standing on end, his eyes already shining with unshed tears - in the moment before he crashed into her, warm and _real_ and anything but a hallucination her mind had conjured to torment her with. His arms locked around her waist as her breath left her, and he buried his face into her neck. She could feel his words as he spoke into her hair.

“Mom, we found you! We actually did it! You’re okay!”

Emma felt her knees buckle, her legs no longer willing to hold her up, and she sank to the ground slowly, one arm wrapped tight around her son’s shoulders as her free hand slid into his hair. She let out a quick, incredulous laugh - though it broke, quickly turning into a sob. She pressed her face into his hair, her cheeks aching from the force of her smile. “God, Henry, it’s really you,” she whispered, squeezing tighter as she felt his shoulders shake. “You found me,” she murmured, echoing her son’s words, and held onto him, her anchor in a storm, for a few moments more before the rest of his words hit her.

_We._

Emma looked up, her eyes falling on the man holding the torch, a few feet away, as if he’d wanted to allow them what privacy he could in their reunion. Though the shadows hid his face, she knew it wasn’t her father, and felt her shoulders stiffen.

She stumbled back to her feet, dragging Henry up with her, and took a step closer.

“Mom, it’s okay. He’s with me,” Henry’s voice wavered, but the smile he offered did not.

Emma looked back at her son’s companion, eyes narrowed as she took another step closer and watched as he let out a heavy sigh, as though he’d been holding in the air for quite some time.

“Emma,” he breathed, and she froze.

_As you wish, Emma._

He said her name the same, she thought, only dimly aware that the realization made little sense. His face was different, shadowed by several day’s worth of dark hair, and new lines fanned from his eyes. A scar he hadn’t possessed as a child marred his cheek. He’d grown taller, certainly, and the slope of his shoulders was a little heavier, as though he’d only added more weight to his burdens rather than less. The hook at the end of his left arm where a hand should have been gave her pause, but his eyes bored into hers through the darkness and the lips that shaped her name were the _same_.

It was him, but he was far too different from her memories to be a ghost.

Emma swallowed, struggling to form words past the thickness in her throat, and her fingers tightened in Henry’s shirt. When she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper, the word torn from her with all the violence of a losing battle.

_“Killian?”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

Killian couldn’t breathe.

Emma and Henry collided and sank to the cave floor, a tangle of arms, relief, love, and words he wasn’t privy to. He let his arm fall, the tip of his cutlass scraping the ground, and stayed where he was. He realized then that, for all the nerves and questions and scenarios he’d pondered the night before, when the mere idea of sleep had been a dream, no amount of thought could have truly prepared him.

_Nothing_ would have prepared him for seeing her again.

As Emma’s head lifted, her eyes falling on him with a mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and concern, he felt his heart pick up speed, beating her name against his ribs.

_Emma, Emma, Emma._

His eyes drank her in, a dying man in a desert, as she rose to her feet, pulling Henry up with her. As though at a distance, he could hear Henry placating her, attempting to soothe away her distrust, but all Killian could see was Emma Swan, taking a step in his direction, then another, and despite her dirty, tattered gown clinging to the lines of her legs and her blond hair hanging limp and unkempt around her face, he swore he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in all his years.

His breath left him, carrying her name with it, and when he saw her eyes widen, something sharp and painful bloomed inside his chest, a warmth spreading through his limbs. In a better world, he thought, he’d take the three steps that separated them and take her in his arms, wrap her up in his embrace and tuck his nose into the curve of her collarbone to see if she still smelled like sunshine. He would thread his fingers through her hair, tuck it behind her ears and count the freckles that dotted her nose, press his thumb against her cheek to see the gift of her smile. He’d breathe in her air and maybe, for the first time in sixteen years, feel like he’d stepped out of the chill of the shadows and into the bright rays of the sun.

His foot moved forward. He watched as what little color the cavern hadn’t washed from her skin drained out of her cheeks, and froze. She looked like she’d seen a particularly unwelcome ghost, and he remembered he wasn’t in a better world. He ducked his chin down, and he felt the warmth recede and a bitter, splintering cold well up in its wake. He was nothing, a wastrel of a boy and a pirate of a man, and he didn’t get to keep the things he loved.

He heard Emma whisper his name, and his entire body jerked, a violent, unbidden reaction. He looked up to see her coming closer and held his breath once more.

Emma stopped a foot from him. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch, to be certain she was real and not a dream - or perhaps even a nightmare - but he curled his hand into a fist and stayed still. She reached out slowly, but seemed to think better of it and pulled her hand back, flattening her palm against the hollow of her throat instead.

“You’re alive?” she whispered, and Killian couldn’t help but stare at her mouth, watching her lips shape the words.

He looked back up, his eyes meeting hers, just in time to see the bright warmth flare up, only to die away just as quickly as her words settled into the both of them, a flame doused before it could burn. Her eyes narrowed as she took one, decisive step backwards, her hand sliding onto Henry’s shoulder.

“You’re alive,” an echo, but no longer a question, and the words would sound flat and unaffected to any who didn’t know her.

Killian could hear the hurt underneath and the accusation, as clearly as if she’d screamed at him. He let his eyes fall closed.

“I knew it!” Henry crowed, and Killian glanced in his direction, one eyebrow arching high. “I _knew_ you two knew each other.”

Her son’s words seemed enough to bring Emma back to the present. She gave her head one, quick shake and leveled Killian with a glare. He fought the urge to take a hefty step backwards.

“You brought my son _here_ ? To be, what, some sort of pirate sacrifice?” Emma spit the words at him, and Killian felt the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown, his hand raising to scratch at the back of his ear. “I mean, you are a pirate now, aren’t you?” Her mouth twisted, like the words tasted foul on her tongue, “ You’re _Captain Hook_!”

“Mom, stop,” Henry said, tangling his fingers with hers and tugging on her hand. “Hook’s on our side.”

Emma wasn’t finished. “Y-you were locked in Fort Charles! What, did you kidnap my son? How did you even know-”

“Allow me to interrupt, just for a moment, what I’m sure is a brilliantly scathing speech, love,” Killian started, holding up his hand to stem her words. “Aye, I was in Fort Charles, lounging about and dutifully pondering my last words as I awaited the noose, when your rather rambunctious boy came along and freed me from the brig. Now, unless the Crocodile simply waved you away and invited you to live out your days roaming free on this hellish rock, I imagine, at the current moment, we are slaves to time and ours is rapidly running out. In other words, tick tock. Unless you have some other sort of safe passage off this island, I suggest you come along with your boy and I, Swan, and once we’ve left Isle de Muerta in our wake, feel free to continue shouting at me.”

Emma stared at him, lips parted. Killian simply turned around on his heel, stooping at the waist to retrieve his cutlass from the ground and gave his sword a cavalier wave in the direction of the cave’s exit.

“After you.”

Her eyes narrowed, the tip of her tongue swiping out to touch her bottom lip, but before she could speak, all three of their heads jolted in the direction of the darkness behind them when they heard shouting, echoing out from the largest cavern.

Henry’s eyes blew wide, and Emma’s furious expression slipped, revealing something beneath that looked closer to raw fear before she managed to hide it. He watched as she reached down, gripping the handle of the sword at her son’s belt, and slid it free. She ignored Henry’s protests as she pointed it Killian’s direction, something utterly unreadable in her eyes.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she spoke hurriedly, the words slightly breathless as she planted a hand on Henry’s back and nudged him forward.

He forced the corners of his mouth to curl up into something resembling a smirk, and berated himself for allowing his mask to slip. “Darling, I would despair if you did.”


	8. 7: Lower Our Sails

Emma had her hands twisted in Killian’s jacket, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and clung like a vine to a tree. They sailed through the air, Killian’s hand and forearm wrapped up in the rope that hoisted them up onto the ship, and without solid ground beneath her feet and his eyes turned upwards, she tucked her face into his neck and tried to ignore the heady scent of salt and leather, and the lingering hints just underneath that made her feel as though she were fourteen years old and no time had passed at all. 

Their bodies jolted as Killian’s feet hit solid wood first, hers shortly after, and she felt the faintest press of his hand at her hip as she found her footing. When she straightened up, his fingers fell away , and he took a step backwards. Emma’s hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, and after just a beat too long, she snatched her hands away as if he’d burned her, feeling the corresponding heat rise up and color her cheeks. His eyes touched on hers for a split second before he turned away, and Henry burrowed his way into her arms instead. 

“Weigh anchor! We’ve got to move if you sods want to live to see another day!” Killian moved away from them, barking out orders in a voice she’d never heard from him, but judging by the way every man in earshot snapped into motion, it was one he’d perfected. As he strolled to the helm, an unfamiliar confidence in his every stride, Emma could easily see the man she’d never known, the one who’d spent nine years on a Naval ship and, apparently, another seven as a Pirate Captain. She dropped a hand onto Henry’s hair, pushing her fingers through the dark strands and watched.

Killian dropped his hook onto the wheel, calling out to one Mr. Smee, and she felt Henry startle in her arms before realizing they’d been addressed as well. 

“Lad, get your mother down below,” he ordered, his tone inviting no arguments, not that her son offered one. 

Emma frowned, wanting to protest, but Henry simply tugged at her hand. “Come on, let’s get out of their way. We gotta get out to see before Gold realizes what’s happened,” he explained, and Emma found herself staring at him, dumbfounded, as he led her towards the hatch, expertly dodging the rigging and scrambling sailors as though he’d been born on the ship.

Henry led her below deck, pushing open a heavy door before waving his hand, inviting her into the small, but neat cabin. He sank down onto the bunk, reaching down to tug his boot off, sighing with exaggerated relief when he freed his foot. “I can find you some boots, Mom, if you want.” 

Emma nodded slowly, eyes scanning the cabin before settling back onto her son. Her boy, who’d always been hesitant, more comfortable with his books and stories than swimming in the sea or racing along the cliff sides. Her son, who handled flowers with tenderness and never moved without knowing his next step. When she’d last seen him, she’d settled him into bed and dropped a kiss on his hair, unaware she wouldn’t see him come morning. Now he carried a sword as though he’d never been without, traversed the length of a wave-tossed ship with ease, and had sailed across the sea to find her without thinking twice.

She must have been staring at him with the awe she felt showing in her eyes, for he shifted in his seat, and arched one eyebrow at her in a move so achingly familiar it nearly stole her breath. “What’s wrong, Mom?” 

“How did you get here, Henry?”

He offered a small, sheepish smile. “Well, like Hook said. I got him out of jail, he stole the  _ Snowfall _ , and we came to find you.” 

“Just like that?” Emma asked. Her smile felt a little weak, a little forced, but still warm for her child.

Henry nodded, lacing his fingers through hers, and gave her hand a squeeze. “Just like that.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer before Henry spoke again, a sly smile curving his mouth. “So how do you know Captain Hook? What did you call him earlier ? ‘ Killian? ’ ”

“Yes,” she murmured, averting his gaze, and tamping down the reluctance she felt rising up at the change of conversation, the urge to slam a book cover closed. “I knew him once, a long time ago. Or I thought I did.”

Henry frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he leaned back against his pillow, eyes drooping. “He’s not a bad guy, Mom. I mean, he  _ is  _ a pirate, but not an evil one. His whole crew wanted to take back the  _ Jolly Roger _ from Captain Gold, but he promised me we’d save you first, and we did.” 

Emma shook her head slowly, drawing back the blanket that covered the bunk. “Thank you, Henry. For coming after me like that,” she spoke softly, nudging his shoulder until he slid under the blanket, and dropped a kiss onto his forehead. “Next time, maybe, don’t break a dangerous man out of prison and risk your life to save me, though.”

She forced a smile, and Henry echoed it in the sleepy tilt of his lips. “He’s not dangerous, Mom. Just…sad, I think.” 

Emma felt a twinge in her chest, a sharp twist, and pushed her fingers through Henry’s hair. “Get some sleep, kid. I love you.” 

Henry’s eyes fell closed , and Emma sat at his side for a few minutes, her thoughts flying over the day she’d had, and all the unanswered questions. She debated over whether she wanted to take Killian up on his offer to continue shouting at him, or if she’d rather spend as much time avoiding him as she possibly could on a ship out at sea. She rose from the bed and went to leave, casting one last glance at her son.

She pulled the door closed behind her as quietly as she could, only to jump when she saw someone standing in the hall, her breath hissing out between her teeth.

“Sorry if I startled you,” the soft laugh came from a small blond woman. She pushed off the wall and offered a hand. “You must be Emma.” 

Emma studied her for a moment before hesitantly taking her hand, eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’m Tink. Captain asked me to draw you a bath and maybe see about finding you something clean to wear?” Tink pressed her lips together, and Emma felt as though she were being studied and, quite possibly, found lacking. When Tink gestured to her cheek, something like concern in her eyes, Emma felt only mildly ashamed. 

“That looks like it hurt.” 

Emma touched her fingers to her cheek, finding the bruise from where Gold had struck her. “I imagine it looks worse than it feels. A bath...would be nice,” she agreed, unable to hide the longing in her voice.

Tink smiled. “Right this way, then.”

* * *

 

The water in the basin sloshed about with the rocking motion of the ship as they made haste away from the island, but it was warm and  clean. After shedding the gown she’d been stuck in since her first unpleasant evening aboard the _ Jolly Roger, _ Emma sank into the tub with a shameless whimper and a contented sigh. Tink chuckled as she moved about the small cabin, gathering Emma’s discarded clothing, and Emma was far too used to having ladies’ maids to be bothered with modesty. She leaned her head back, drawing her fingers through her hair, and closed her eyes. 

“Thank you,” Emma told her, her voice empathetic and entirely sincere as Tink laid down a pile of clean clothes atop the desk. 

Tink offered her a smile. “It was Hook’s idea,” she insisted, blond eyebrows dancing . “But,  you’re quite welcome. You’ve been through an ordeal, I imagine.” 

“That’s one way to describe it,” Emma agreed, sliding a bar of plain soap over her skin, wincing only a little when she touched bruises and scrapes. The gash across her palm throbbed, but she tried to put it and the events of the cavern out of her mind. 

“You’ve got a wonderful son, Emma , ” Tink told her.

Emma felt a little ridiculous for the lump that rose in her throat. 

“He was very brave, to come this far to rescue you. I think Hook’s fond of him, too,” she added, and Emma ducked her chin, splashing water onto her face to avoid Tink’s gaze. 

“I don’t know what the boy said to him to get him to give up an opportunity to steal back his ship and save you instead, but it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the Captain care about anything else.” Tink continued .

Emma frowned. “What do you mean?” she couldn’t have stopped the words if she’d tried, anymore than she could hide the fact that she - despite her anger, despite her hurt - was desperate to know what had happened to the boy she’d known, the one whose smiles came a little more freely, who had sworn up and down he’d come back to her, to turn him into the pirate who had broken his promise and railed against the world while he carried its weight. 

Tink cast a glance in her direction before shrugging one shoulder. “Just that, for years now, he’s been so focused on getting the  _ Roger  _ back from Gold and making him suffer in the process…”  S he paused, seeming to chose her words with care, before sighing . “I suppose it’s just nice to see he’s capable of caring about something other than revenge, even something as simple as keeping his promise to a child and helping him save his mother.” 

Emma took a breath and sank below the water’s surface, letting bubbles escape her lips, one by one. No, she knew all too well that Killian Jones cared, perhaps too much - it had always been his strength as well as his weakness. She also knew that when he  _ hurt _ , truly and deeply, he hid it behind bitter smiles and shrouded it in darkness, until he could convince himself the wound was there no longer. She thought of the man she’d met in the cavern, swathed head to toe in black leather, with shadows under his eyes and broken glass in their depths, remembered the awestruck way he’d whispered her name, and found that, quite suddenly, the safe place she’d tucked his memory away - out of sight, out of mind - didn’t quite fit the way it once had. 

Her head broke the surface, lungs burning for air, and Emma pressed a hand to the hollow of her throat, searching for the cross that was no longer hers to bear. 

* * *

 

Within the hour, Emma felt cleaner and far more comfortable in dark trousers and a white blouse, and when she pushed her way onto the main deck, the breeze catching her still-damp hair and caressing her skin, her eyes settled on Killian at the helm. 

She could see him far better in the light, and though he’d certainly changed since she’d known him, she could grudgingly admit - to herself, at least - that the years of hardship had done him  _ some  _ favors. The colt - legged boy was gone, and life at sea had clearly suited him. His dark hair was mussed, whether by the wind or his own hand, she couldn’t be sure, and the sun teased hints of red from his beard. His eyes drew in the blue of the sea and reflected its color back, brighter and clearer. Even sixteen years later, he was still, without a doubt, the prettiest man she’d ever seen, and a small part of her still hated him for it. 

Emma tore her eyes away and looked out at the ocean. The island was an ever-shrinking dot on the horizon, a memory growing more distant with every moment, and she let out a heavy breath and climbed the stairs, wiggling her toes in the extra space her borrowed boots afforded her.

She saw the moment Killian noticed her, as tension snapped through his back and drew his shoulders up towards his ears. The expression he’d worn for Scarlet in the seconds before- a broad, rakish grin, amusement at something his companion had said - melted away and for a second, she saw something raw and broken behind his eyes before he inclined his head in her direction, a smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth that looked absolutely forced. Will Scarlet took one look and made himself scarce.

“Swan,” Killian said, “to what do I owe the privilege of your company?” 

Emma pressed her lips together in a firm line. “You and I need to talk. Privately.”

“Ah,” Killian tilted his head to one side, lifting his hand from the wheel and gesturing to someone on deck, “I’ve found that when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.” He stepped away from the helm as a short man in a red cap took his place - Smee, she believed his name was - and knelt to open the hatch behind them.

“After you then, Swan.” 

 

* * *

* * *

Killian felt like he was sixteen years old again, with his heart picking an unsteady rhythm against his ribs and his hand unable to find somewhere to stay - between his hair, pocket, or the wall behind him - and felt all the more foolish for it.

Emma climbed down the ladder, whirling around to face him once her boots made contact with the floor. “I have questions, and I need you to answer them.” 

Despite his nerves, he felt the corners of his mouth pull up into a small smile. “I expected nothing less, love,” he started, blinking when her shoulders stiffened.

“Stop calling me that,” she murmured.

Killian took a step back and sank into the desk chair, his smile twisting into something a little less genuine. “Go on then, Swan. Although I must say, I’m rather surprised you’re not with your boy, after such a heartfelt reunion. The urge to be in my proximity must be overwhelming, indeed.” 

Emma’s green eyes narrowed to slits, and he felt his heartbeat speed up with the anticipation of a fight, in whatever form it would take. When she finally spoke, words carefully measured, it wasn’t quite the onslaught he’d expected.

“I need you to tell me how you, a  _ presumed  _ dead Naval officer, factor into Captain Gold’s curse.” 

Killian’s eyebrows rose, and though he let the intended slight pass, he still found himself fumbling in his pocket for his flask, pulling the cork loose with his teeth. “You know about that, then,” he demurred, before taking a sip of rum and letting his eyes fall closed at the welcome burn. 

“I do,” Emma agreed, watching his every move with what looked to be a mixture of suspicion and intrigue . “I had the rather unpleasant experience of witnessing his attempt to break it first hand, after he kidnapped me, cut my hand open, and then murdered the father of my child.” 

Killian was thankful he’d held off on taking another sip, for he surely would have choked on it. “Pardon? Who’s Henry’s father?”  The question slipped from his tongue before he could stop it.

Emma stared at him for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip before saying softly, “Gold’s son. Neal.”

_ “Neal?! _ ” 

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Emma bit out, though the words lacked any real heat.

Killian pressed his lips together before reaching his hand out slowly across the table, giving her every chance to pull away, before he brushed his fingers over the back of her wrist, a feather-light touch. When she stared at his hand but didn’t move, he circled her wrist with his fingers and turned her hand over, frowning at the raw gash across her palm as he tugged her hand closer.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, her voice hushed.

“This wants cleaning, love,” he murmured, the endearment sliding off his tongue before he could think better of it. When Emma offered no protests, he slipped his hook around her wrist to hold her steady and pulled a linen wrapping from the desk drawer. He picked up his flask, arching one eyebrow. 

“This’ll sting a bit,” he warned, before dousing her wound. 

She hissed through her teeth but didn’t cry out, and Killian offered her the slightest hint of a smile before setting his flask back down to work on wrapping up her hand. 

“You’re still a gentleman, then,” Emma muttered, her eyes on their hands.

“It would seem,” Killian agreed, chancing a glance at her, peeking through his lashes. “And you’re still quite a tough lass, aren’t you Swan? Not  _ too  _ much has changed, I imagine.” 

He had the pleasure of watching her cheeks flush. Her eyes fell onto the curve of his hook, and for a moment, he caught a flash of sadness in her gaze. “Some things have,” she murmured. Her breath hitched audibly when he dipped his head lower, taking the end of the bandage between his teeth to tie it off. He turned her hand over gently, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, and released her when her fingers clenched and she made a move to pull away.

He dropped his gaze and took another pull from his flask. “So Neal is the father that abandoned Henry, then,” he mused, leaning back in his  chair. “Bloody fool.” 

Emma sat up straight, her eyes fixed on the wall over his shoulder. “You’re well informed,” her tone was begrudging, bordering on accusation. 

Killian sighed. “I only know what your boy has told me, Swan. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to see that, to watch him die. Is he...is he why they took you from Port Royal?”

“I quit caring for him a long time ago,” Emma shook her head, speaking slowly. She tilted her head to one side, hesitating, before grabbing onto the chain that hung from her neck, and pulled it loose from the collar of her blouse and up over her head . “And  I imagine he forgot about me the moment he left. No, they took me because I had this,” she placed the necklace down on the table’s surface, her eyes lifting to meet his tentatively before she pulled her hand back, leaving the chain where it was. She gestured with a nod for him to take it, and shifted in her seat.

Killian raised an eyebrow and reached for it, bringing the ring closer to inspect it, and his breath caught.

It took him several moments to find his voice. “This was my father’s,” he said quietly, willing her to look up and meet his stare . “I thought I lost it, the morning he left.”

“You didn’t,” Emma mumbled, fingering the bandage that wrapped her palm.

“You’ve had this all these years? Why?” he stopped, mouth turning down into a frown . “What could Gold want with it? Why did he want  _ you _ ?” 

Emma took a deep breath, her chest heaving with the effort. “When the pirates attacked the manor, I thought...I thought they’d take me for ransom if they knew I was the Governor’s daughter. So when Gold saw the ring and asked me my name, I lied. I told him I was Emma Jones.” 

She looked up then and met his eyes warily, and Killian felt as though his heart stuttered in his chest. When he didn’t say anything, she reached into her trouser pocket and pulled forth a folded parchment. She opened it and smoothed it flat on the table before pushing it across the space between them. “I found this in Gold’s quarters.” 

He wondered what else she’d found in the cabin that once belonged to him, to his brother. “You’re quite the thief, aren’t you, Swan?” he murmured, no heat to the words, only a small amount of awe as he bent forward to read the hastily scribbled words.

_ You must replace what has been lost _

_ Repay the debt of blood with the freshest of the line _

_ Sacrifice’s what’s next, a heart as death’s riposte _

_ When you return to the Dark One’s Shrine,  _

_ And at last face greed’s cost _

 

“Your father’s ring was the last piece of the stolen treasure that cursed them in the first place,” Emma explained when he looked back up, one skeptical eyebrow raised .  “Gold sacrificed Neal’s heart for the curse, and all he thought he needed after that was  _ my  _ blood, when he thought my name was Jones. But he really needs -”

“Mine,” Killian said dully, and  he felt like he’d been plunged headfirst into arctic waters.

_ Don’t tell them your name, little brother. _

He staggered to his feet, pushing away from the desk, and his hand flew into his hair, pulling with an intensity that should have stung, if he’d been able to feel it. Emma stood up as well, and he thought she might have said his name.

“The Crocodile needs my blood,” he echoed . “The youngest Jones. That’s why he did it, why he killed him - why he told me not to -”

He couldn’t breathe.

Killian felt small hands on his shoulders, pushing him backwards. He followed their direction without a struggle, sinking down onto the bed when he felt the back of his legs hit the bunk. He looked up to see Emma, watching him with something like  _ concern  _ in her eyes, and it stung. 

No one had looked at Killian Jones like that, like they  _ cared _ , in seven years. 

“Breathe, Killian .” His name was barely more than a whisper from her lips, but he felt it like a bullet, all the same. She stood in front of him, quiet for a long moment, before asking, “ He killed Liam, didn’t he?”

The words stung but her voice was gentle, the familiar cadence a balm to frayed nerves.

“That was the story we heard, anyway,” she continued, “That Gold was the one who did it.”

Killian let out his breath in one slow, harsh exhale. “Yes.”

Emma knelt down, ducking her head until she could meet his eyes, and though he wanted to look away he found himself trapped in warm green, the color of sunshine on the sea. “When Liam died, you didn’t have to be alone. You could have come  _ home _ ,” she stumbled over the words . Her voice strained, as though it hurt to ask, “ Why didn’t you ever come back?” 

He wanted to tell her.

_ Tell her you did, you great bloody prat. _

Had he been solely in his own company, he likely would have answered the ghost of his brother’s voice. As it was, he dropped his gaze, breaking her stare. He felt the weight of her disappointment as heavy as a crushing wave and let it wash over him. If he were a luckier man he’d drown.

“Fine,” Emma spoke softly, pushing back to her feet and moving away, and the gaping chasm between them grew wider with every  step. “But  there is something else we have to worry about. Your blood isn’t the only thing he needs to break the curse anymore.”

“Henry,” Killian’s voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “They need Henry’s.” He jumped to his feet, eyes scanning the cabin for his sword, but Emma held up a hand.

“Gold doesn’t know about him,” she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth . “But, for how long? If he was willing to kill his own son to break his curse, nothing will stop him.” 

“No,” Killian agreed .  “I’ve spent years trying.”

Emma blinked twice, blonde eyebrows furrowing. “Why? Wouldn’t you want to kill him? Isn’t that what you’ve been  _ doing  _ this whole time, trying to avenge Liam?” 

“Aye,” he nodded, straightening his shoulders, “but murdering him would hardly be the proper way to do it.” 

“Why?”

“Because that’s what he wants, Swan. He wants to break the curse and die, to rejoin his dearly departed lady love.” 

“Wonderful. We can break the curse for him and let him do just that,” Emma suggested.

“No.” The denial came out sharper than he intended, and Emma narrowed her eyes. 

“What do you mean, no?”

“Just that, I believe,” Killian hedged, his hand gripping his belt as she took an angry, determined step in his direction.

“I understand that you want him to  _ suffer _ , believe me, I get it-”

“Do you?” he interrupted, the words coming out hushed as he took a step towards her, watching her eyes go wide at the quietly simmering anger edging his tone . “He took my brother from me, my ship, my bloody left hand!”  He waggled his hook in her direction. “I had so little left to  _ love _ , Emma, and that bastard wrung out every blasted drop. I’ve lost everything, but I  _ will  _ have my vengeance.” 

“Not everything,” Emma whispered, and his heart lept into his throat. 

“Emma-” he breathed her name, halting as she stabbed a finger against his vest. 

“You  _ had me _ ,” she bit the words out, and the startling amount of misery in her eyes nearly broke him. 

“I lost you the minute my brother signed my Naval commission, love,” he wrapped his fingers around her wrist as his voice pitched low, the words rough as they scraped their way out of his throat, “only neither of us were willing to admit it.” 

“And that’s it? I waited for you,” she snapped . “Every day. I looked for you on every ship, saw you in every sailor who made port .” Her voice rose as she slapped her palms against his chest, though he wasn’t certain whether she wanted to shove him or simply touch, to prove to herself he was real. “I didn’t stop looking until the day they told me you were  _ dead _ , and maybe not even then.” 

His fingers clutched at her hip, his mouth going dry. “Emma, I-”

“What? You what?” she demanded, eyes blazing.

He couldn’t find an answer. He remembered his brother’s first lesson to him aboard the  _ Jewel _ , when he was not quite yet a man, with enough anger in his heart to power the ship when the winds failed. He’d received his first punishment and had been nursing his wounds in private, sulking below deck when Liam had found him. 

He felt the touch of his brother’s hand against his shoulder, the press of Liam’s cheek against the top of his head as he’d pulled him in close and whispered,  _ “ _ _ Don’t  _ _ show it, Killian. Don’t give them the power to hurt you.” _

_ I didn’t know _ , he thought bitterly. He hadn’t realized the weight he carried, that she’d cared enough, that she’d given him the power to hurt her.

He couldn’t tell her, that he’d left to make something of himself, in hopes that one day, he’d feel like he deserved the affection she’d given him for free. That he’d spent sixteen years embroiled in a fruitless search for even an ounce of self-worth, and had never quite managed to find any.

“I didn’t start the rumor,” he began, “that I had died, but I allowed the deception to perpetuate, and for that, I apologize. It was never my intention to hurt you, Emma,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He watched her throat move as she swallowed. 

“That’s not enough.”

It wasn’t, he knew. He never was.

Killian took a step backwards, her hands falling away as he retreated. Automatically, his hand sought his flask, abandoned on the table, as he felt a gnawing ache building inside his chest he only knew one way to soothe. “I’ll make sure you and Henry get home safely, Swan.”

Emma’s shoulders sank. He was all too aware of her eyes on him, and he had to fight the urge to shift under the weight of her stare. He looked up just as she took a breath, words on the tip of her tongue, but he never got to hear them. 

They both jumped at the slam of the cabin door swinging wide on its hinges. 

“Hook!” Henry darted into the room, wooden swords clutched in his hands . “Will you spar with me again?”

Killian passed a hand through his hair, and Emma’s smile looked absolutely strained. “Of course, lad .” He cast one last look at her as she turned away, her expression closed off, clouds moving to cover the sun, and bit back his sigh as she dropped a kiss on the crown of her son’s head before escaping the room. 

 

* * *

* * *

He was lying to her.

Emma  _ knew _ , as surely as she’d known Gold was hiding a horrible secret, that Killian was keeping something from her. She doubted it held quite the severity of his Crocodile’s, but it nagged at her all the same.

Despite the bright midday sun, Emma shuddered. 

While she’d certainly had a list of vengeances she’d wished upon Neal - any number of venereal diseases near the top, to be sure - filicide hadn’t made the cut. Of all things, he hadn’t deserved  _ that _ . 

Emma pressed her lips together and looked up, her gaze refocusing on the mock sword fight in front of her. While half of her had wanted to stay below and avoid Killian Jones for the duration of his Captaincy of her father’s favored ship, Henry had begged her to watch them spar, and she couldn’t quite justify disappointing her child in favor of hiding.

Henry had a talent with the sword, she could admit. His steps were careful as he mirrored Killian’s, and she grinned when he feinted left and landed a strike to Killian’s chest.

Killian put his hand to his ribs and laughed, his head falling back, and Emma’s heart ached. 

“Excellent form, lad,” he praised, swiping his hand through his hair, and Henry inflated with pride. 

_ He would have been a good father. _

The thought surprised her, but she couldn’t deny it. He’d spent only a matter of days with her son and already seemed to understand him on a level that some who’d shared years with Henry didn’t quite manage. 

Emma shook her head, blowing out an impatient breath, and looked back to the deck to see Henry and Killian had both shed layers in the heat. They circled each other in naught but their trousers and boots, dark hair plastered to their foreheads, swords held aloft, and Emma’s eyes glued to Killian.

The harness for his brace caught her attention first. Criss-crossing leather straps pressed into the skin of his shoulders, securing the hook to his wrist, and she wondered - not for the first time - exactly how and when he’d lost his hand.

Her eyes trailed from leather to ink as she studied yet another mark of the time between them, the black tattoos that painted his skin.

He had a fair few. She picked out different patterns as he moved, toy sword clashing with Henry’s, but the one that caught her interest the most was the picture splashed over his heart.

At first glance, it had certainly looked abstract, but the more she stared - confident he wouldn’t catch her, locked in battle as he was - the more she noticed it absolutely wasn’t.

Emma noticed the flowers first, swirled together, and felt a lump rise in her throat. Anyone who didn’t know them wouldn’t recognize the renditions in the ink, but she made them out easily enough.

Daffodils and roses, his skin a canvas for the paintings of his loss.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, wishing away the pangs of empathy. She was better off without them.

Killian turned again, a broad grin stretching his face, and when she noticed another design in the spread over his heart, her mouth went dry.

A swan, wings spread wide, as if on the brink of flight.

Emma got to her feet and paced away, dropping her hands on the rail and turning her face to the sea. 

_ There’s something he’s not telling me. _

She felt her eyes sting with tears she refused to shed and wished for her anger instead.

 Why did she belong with his mother and brother, branded into his skin among the symbols of those he’d loved most, and ultimately lost, if he’d never once bothered to come back?

“Mom!” 

Emma bit down on her lip, schooling her features into something she hoped conveyed peace before turning to face her son.

His chest heaved with his breaths, but his smile was easy and content. “It’s your turn,” Henry said, pushing his wooden sword into her hands.

“Oh, no,” Emma protested, her eyes flying between Henry and Killian. “I’m okay.”

Killian forced a smile.

“Come on, you have to practice,” Henry insisted, his fingers circling her wrist as he pulled her away from the rail and towards the middle of the deck. “It’s been a while since you’ve sparred, right?”

“Henry, I-” 

“Scared to duel a pirate?” Killian’s voice held a note of teasing, his lips settling into a smirk that made her spine snap straighter, but when his hand reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear, her fingers twitched with the old urge to snatch his hand in hers. 

Emma knew his tells. He was every bit as unsettled as she was, and the thought had her lifting the sword from her side and holding it out in front of her, the faintest smile curling her lips. “Only worried to wound the Captain before we make it home.” 

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his smile curving into something a touch more genuine. He raised his sword to cross it with hers, taking a step to his right as she mirrored his movements. “Remember to keep your arm up, Swan .” His eyes flashed a challenge, and she rose to meet him.

She was distantly aware of Henry’s cheers as she and Killian danced around each other, wooden swords knocking together, and in no time she felt a bead of sweat sliding down her spine, chest heaving with exertion. He was a master with the weapon, of that she had no questions - his steps more certain, his movements more refined than they’d been when he was younger - and though she knew he was going easy on her, defending far more often than he attacked, she couldn’t help but wonder just how fearsome he’d be in an actual battle, with his real cutlass and a weapon where his hand once existed. 

Despite the heat plastering his hair to his forehead, he showed little signs of tiring, where her arms burned and her breaths heavy. Emma narrowed her eyes and stuck out her foot, tripping him up.

As he stumbled and lost a step she moved in, sliding up behind him with her toy sword at his throat, and she felt his breathing stutter, his back against her chest. 

He turned his head to one side, catching her eye, and she watched his lips quirk up in a crooked smile. “Bad form Swan,” he said, voice low and breathy, and Emma felt her own breath catch. “I’m certain whoever taught you didn’t impart the art of cheating.” 

“Anything to win a fight,” Emma retorted, the words barely more than a whisper, and she felt the quake of his laugh down to her bones. 

“I knew there was a little pirate in you, love .” His eyes darted down, touching on her lips for the briefest moment before meeting her own once more, and Emma’s cheeks burned.

She should back away, she knew. She was the one holding him at her mercy.

Her feet wouldn’t move.

They both jumped at the call from overhead, springing apart as Scarlet leaned over the edge of the Crow’s nest.

“Captain!” 

Killian’s hand flew to his hair, and she could see his chest heaving as he cast his eyes upwards. “What?” he snapped.

“The  _ Roger’s  _ on the horizon, mate, and gaining fast.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huffleporg and Ady, thanks for being the best of the best. Thank you guys for reading.


	9. 8: Over the Limitless Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Thanks to all of you who continue to read this, and to huffleporg and Ady, for being awesome.

* * *

 

Henry stumbled into his cabin, his mother and Hook close on his heels. He could hear muffled shouts and pounding feet on the deck above.

“Keep your sword close,” Hook ordered, grabbing the blade from the desk and pressing it into Henry’s grasp. 

His mother twined her fingers with his after he slid the sword through his belt. “What’s going on?” Last he’d seen, his mother and the pirate had been playing, sparring on deck with broader smiles than he’d seen on either of them in a while, when the shouting had started and Hook had corralled the both of them below.

“Ah, nothing we can’t handle, my boy,” he replied blithely, as the ship rattled from a burst of cannon fire. Henry saw his mother narrow her eyes, and the pirate offered a grin that bordered on sheepish. “Alas, I’m needed above, it would seem, Swan, but the pair of you will be quite safe down here,” he hesitated, before reaching down and pulling his own sword from the sheath that hung from his belt, and handed it to Emma.

“In case you need it,” he offered, and his mother’s glare melted away.

“What about you?” she asked.

Hook faltered for a moment, meeting her gaze solidly before shaking his head, and Henry felt the weight of his hand clap down on his shoulder. “I’ll grab another, Swan, now listen, lad, keep that door closed unless I or someone else you know comes for you, understood?” Hook tapped on his elbow. “If you’ve got to fight, watch your form.” 

Henry’s eyes narrowed, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “What’s happening up there?”

“It would seem that the Crocodile has taken issue with our rescue of the Lady Swan,” Hook replied quickly, his hand falling on the door handle before pausing. Henry felt the weight of his stare, something unreadable in his eyes, before he simply pulled it open and yanked the door closed behind him without another word.

“Mom,” Henry started, turning to face her. Emma pulled her eyes away from the door, her brow creased.

“We’ll be alright,” she said, but her smile was forced as she traced the hilt of Hook’s sword, her fingers tangling in a length of blue ribbon tied around the handle. 

“Are you going to be able to use that thing?” Henry asked, and her smile became a little more genuine.

“Believe it or not, yes.” 

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, watching his mother watch the door. He saw the way she moved her fingers almost absently over the blade across her knees, had noticed how Hook - or  _ Killian _ , that would take some adjusting - orbited around her, how his hand hovered over the small of her back in the doorway. He remembered the pirate’s whispered question, his first day aboard.

_ Is she happy? _

If there was one thing Henry prided himself on, other than how quickly he could devour a novel or that he could patiently coax a gallop out of even the most stubborn horse in their stables, it was his intelligence, and the fact that he was far more perceptive to his mother’s emotions than perhaps she liked, or even understood.

“Mom, are you happy? Or, were you, before this happened? Without the whole pirate kidnapping thing?”

Emma turned to face him, eyebrows lifted in confusion, despite the faint smile she offered. “Of course, Henry. Why do you ask?” 

He shifted on the bunk. “Well, Ho-Killian asked, actually,” he felt her shoulders stiffen next to his, “and I wanted to make sure.” 

“Killian asked?” she echoed, her smile shifting into something a little less warm, a little more sad.

Henry nodded, taking a deep breath before asking the question that had plagued him for days. “Is he my father?”

“Oh, no. He’s not,” she said, nearly tripping over the words in her haste. 

He frowned, feeling a rush of simultaneous disappointment and relief, and didn’t entirely know what to do with them.

His mother must have seen the conflict in his expression. She tipped her head to one side and smoothed a hand down over his shoulder. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet, as though they ran the risk of being overheard. “Did you want him to be?”

Henry shrugged, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t know, he answered honestly, “I thought maybe he could be, since you knew each other, and he obviously likes you,” Emma shifted at that, and Henry felt the corners of his mouth pull up into a slight smile. “Well, he  _ does _ . He brought me here to save you. And I like him, but...I didn’t want him to be the one who abandoned us, either.” 

His words seemed to have more of an effect on his mother than he’d anticipated. She bit her lip, casting her gaze away and staring at the wall with enough intensity to burn it down. “No,” she finally mumbled, after what felt like far too long, “I-” 

Her words drowned in the blast of the cannons, the whole ship shuddering with the impact, and Henry’s hand flew to his sword.

Emma stood up, her fingers twisting around the hilt of Hook’s, and her other hand found his. “We should go up there.” 

Henry sputtered, horrified by the suggestion. “Hook told us to stay here.” 

“And you want to listen?” his mother asked, giving him a look of surprise, “you hardly spare a thought for what Brown tells you, or Papa, or Ruby, but  _ Killian  _ you’ll listen to?” 

“Well, he’s the Captain,” Henry informed her, shrugging one shoulder. 

Emma bit her lip, failing to conceal a tight smile. “I want to make sure everything is okay.” She took a step towards the door, only to spring backwards when it flew open.

Henry lifted his sword, his mother following suit, but he didn’t miss the  _ fear  _ that flashed over her face before she masked it, and felt his own grow. 

It wasn’t Hook shadowing the doorway, or Smee, or Scarlet.

“Ah, we meet again. Captain’s looking for you,” the burly, strange pirate sneered. 

* * *

* * *

 

The  _ Snowfall _ was fast, but certainly not faster than his beloved  _ Jolly Roger. _

In any other circumstance, Killian would be quite proud. With Emma, Henry, and an entire crew onboard while Gold’s band of damned savages drew close enough to throw out lines and attempt to board, all he could manage to feel weighing on his bones was dread.

“Cut the ropes!” he called out, before surrendering the helm to his horrified-looking first mate. Killian took a step backwards, his hand flying to his hair.

He needed to think of a better plan.

“Where are you going?” Smee’s knuckles were white on the wheel.

Killian thrust a finger in his direction. “Keep them from boarding, Smee. I’ll be back in two shakes,” he said, gratified that, at least, he sounded more confident than he felt.

Smee balked at the suggestion, eyes going impossibly wide, but Killian spun away before he could comment, throwing open the hatch and all but leaping into his quarters below. 

This, he knew well, was not a fight he would win.

He reached for the spare sword laid across the desk, one he’d intended to outfit Emma with, and shoved it into his belt next to his dagger. His hand fumbled for his flask in his pocket, and he froze when his hands brushed against a thinner metal.

Emma’s necklace chain, with his father’s signet ring. 

He could hear the shouts overhead, the sharp clang of steel blades, and knew he was running out of time. 

Killian closed his fist around the ring in his palm and closed his eyes.

This was not a fight he could win, no, but now that he knew he had what Gold wanted, perhaps it was high time he lay down his blade.

He pocketed the ring and crossed the cabin, a half-baked better plan leading him to upending the wastebasket under the desk, and closing his fingers around linen. 

Killian stuffed it into his pocket and lifted his eyes to the hatch above. 

He wondered if he’d see his brother afterwards, in whatever life came next, or if once again, Liam had gone somewhere he could not follow.

He’d spent seven years haunted by his brother’s last words, the fear of tarnishing a name he’d earned his cross to bear, the knowledge that his brother would be ashamed of him a crushing weight that threatened to drag him to the depths when, all along, he’d been quite wrong.

Liam had only wished to keep him safe. 

He had buried himself alongside his brother, he thought, but perhaps the man he’d longed to be wasn’t entirely gone. Perhaps, he had never been too far from his grasp. 

As Killian scaled the ladder, he thought of Emma’s smile, a very near match to that of her son’s, and felt his own lips twitch in response as he pushed the hatch open, baring his face to the sun. With his hook on the rung, he reached down and pulled the sword loose, and dropped it to the floor below, leaving it behind. 

Some things, it seemed, were more important.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Much to Henry’s evident disappointment, Emma had lowered her sword.

As much as she would like to fight, to run, anything other than surrender to her fate and go quietly, she had pressed her lips into a thin line and stayed quiet, urging her son with her eyes and pointed gestures to do the same. 

While she might be willing to risk her own life for a chance at freedom, she would  _ not  _ risk Henry’s. 

She gasped when her back slammed into the mast, then bit down on her lip and glared at her captor, angry to have let the pained noise slip. Henry was tied down next to her, struggling against the ropes. She twisted her hand around as much as she could until her fingers could brush his.

He stilled, eying her sideways before letting out a heavy sigh and pressing back against her hand.

Emma let out a breath when Tink was forced down beside her. Scarlet she could hear cursing up a storm somewhere at her back, and she could see Smee being tied to the helm. She’d seen the body of a man she hadn’t yet met when they’d dragged her onto the deck, and while her stomach had churned at the sight, she felt the smallest hint of relief that every face she knew was accounted for. 

All, that is, except one.

“Where’s Hook?” Henry hissed in her ear, and she felt him begin his struggling with a renewed vigor. 

Emma felt her heart pounding in her ears, and shook her head slowly. 

_ He’s not dead. _ That much she clung to.

He’d already proved he was quite adept at surviving.

She heard the out-of-sync knocking of Gold’s leg and cane and went very still. Henry paused, seeming to pick up on her tension, and brushed his fingers over hers once more. 

When he finally limped into her view, her breath caught painfully in her throat. 

He still wore the shirt stained in his son’s blood, and his mouth twisted into a menacing scowl, but something had shattered behind his eyes, leaving only jagged edges and empty spaces.

“Well, well. Miss Jones. Or was it Miss Swan?” his voice was a razor’s edge, and Emma swallowed.

“Miss Swan will do,” she replied, portraying as calm a front as she could. Henry shifted next to her, uneasy. 

The pirates closed in, surrounding them, and someone was still missing.

_ Where the hell is Killian? _

_ “ _ I’ll give you credit where it is due, dearie. You made it quite a bit farther than I imagined, but it no longer matters. That was quite a trick you pulled, and I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you for it.”

To Emma’s eye, he didn’t look the least bit remorseful. She tucked her chin to her shoulder, pressed her forehead to Henry’s temple, and whispered, “I love you, kid.” 

She heard the slide of a sword, heard Henry’s hoarse, desperate shout, but the blow never came.

“You’ll want to put a moratorium on that sort of talk, mate.” 

Emma sucked in a breath and looked up to see all activity had halted on the deck. Killian stood against the railing, leaning on one shoulder, one foot crossed over the other as he picked idly at his fingers with his hook. For all his nonchalance, she could see the tension in the line of his shoulders, the clench to his jaw, and as she sank back against the mast, she hoped he knew what he was doing.

Gold’s face had gone red, lips twisting into a snarl. “ _ You! _ You-” 

“Ah, yes. Startling, aren’t I? Some people say ‘striking’,” Killian drawled, sweeping his eyes over the assembled group, with the faintest hint of a smirk on his mouth.

Emma glared at him.

He was, without a doubt, trying to get himself killed. It bothered her far more than she cared to admit. 

“Hook,” Gold spat his name with evident distaste.

“You look different today, Crocodile. Less...put together. Usually you  _ leave  _ a fight covered in some poor bastard’s blood, it’s not like you to arrive already looking the part.” 

Emma’s eyes bounced between them, and from the perplexed frown that flashed across Gold’s face, she surmised this was not the usual tone their interactions often took.

She imagined Gold was far more accustomed to Killian’s rage than his jovial grin.

The older man glowered at him, a more murderous stare than she’d seen from him yet, but Killian didn’t flinch. 

Gold turned, leveling his sword in Killian’s direction and giving him his full attention. “It would seem you want me to kill you,  _ Captain _ ,” he mocked, “have you grown tired of chasing after your ship?” 

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve done quite enough of that today already. Tell me, was your son that much of a  _ disappointment  _ that you-” Killian broke off with a broad, toothy grin as Gold surged forward, his cane clattering to the deck as he all but fell onto Killian in his fury, the tip of his sword pressed against his throat. Emma froze as she watched a thin trail of blood slide down the line of Killian’s neck, disappearing beneath his collar. 

“Impatient, I see,” Killian clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, still unperturbed, “I’d suggest you refrain from killing me just yet.”

“And why should I do that?” Gold sneered.

“Because I can offer you a deal,” he spoke slowly, drawing each word out, “I know you’re rather fond of those, aren’t you?” 

“What could you possibly have that I would want, other than this sword buried in your chest?” 

For a moment, Killian’s eyes flickered to hers, and Emma held her breath.

“Swan, the boy, and my crew go free,  _ unharmed _ ,” he started, and her heart stuttered, “in exchange for the youngest child of Brennan Jones.” 

For the space of a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, like a clap of thunder in a soundless sky, the deck erupted with a flurry of activity.

Gold’s crew shouted their differing opinions, many screaming for Hook’s head, others hollering to break the curse, all clamoring to be heard as they pushed closer to the railing, nearly blocking Killian and Gold from her view as the two stared each other down, both silent amid the chaos, neither willing to be the first to back down. Somewhere out of her sight, Scarlet was calling for Killian to ‘ _ quit being a bloody, stupid prat. _ ’

Emma let her eyes fall closed, feeling a peculiar numbness settle in over her limbs. Beside her, Henry struggled fruitlessly against his ties, and she wished he’d stop before he rubbed his wrists raw. 

“Mom, what’s going on?” he muttered, and no matter how hard he tried to mask it, she could hear the undercurrent of fear in his words.

She kept her eyes glued on Killian, her mouth dry, and found she didn’t have an answer for him.

Finally, Gold raised a hand and the deck fell quiet once more, the yelling dropping to the low hum of murmurs and grumbles. “Miss Swan seems to be under the impression that the last of Jones’ line has died.” 

Killian’s face twisted into a grimace. “Killed by  _ you _ , you mean. Let’s not mince our words now.” 

“Regardless,” Gold’s voice rose, “the blood I took from your Captain Jones did not break my curse, and he claimed he was the youngest child before he died. Now, all these years later, his pathetic lieutenant is singing a different tune? I know a bluff when I see one.”

Killian lifted his hook, carefully easing the tip of Gold’s sword away from his neck with the metal curve. When he spoke, his voice was low, a whisper of silk over lethal fire and Emma had to strain to hear him. “I’m surprised it’s never occurred to you before, Crocodile. Tell me, you’ve never once wondered why a Naval lieutenant would go to such lengths to avenge his captain? You’ve never asked yourself  _ why  _ I sank your beloved ship, why I always stand in your way? Not once have you pondered  _ why _ , even after losing my hand and my ship, after being left to perish on that island, I just keep coming back?” he leaned forward, his eyes dark, one corner of his mouth curving into a bitter smile when Gold had nothing to say. Killian drew the edge of his coat aside, revealing a waving, wicked dagger tucked through his belt, and Gold’s eyes narrowed in recognition.

“Why I’ve kept this? I’ll tell you why I’ve shadowed your steps, haunted you across the seas. I swore the day you spared my life would be your final day of peace after I watched you drive this blade into my brother’s heart.” 

Gold’s eyes bulged. “Your-” 

“Killian Jones, at your service,” he spat, “amusing, is it not, how all this time, you’ve only bothered to know me by my more colorful moniker?” 

It took Gold several moments to find his voice. “Then you’re aware of how I used  _ that blade _ to carry your brother’s blood to Isle de Muerta? What’s to stop me from killing you right now?” 

“That seems rash,” Killian said flippantly, “and if I were keen on breaking a decades old curse, I doubt I’d be leaving anything to chance.” 

Emma watched as they stared at each other, a vicious stalemate, before Gold let out a breath. 

“So you intend to trade your worthless life for the lives of your crew?” he sneered.

Killian lifted an eyebrow. “The life of my crew, Henry, and Emma Swan,” he corrected, and Emma felt her stomach turn over.

Gold cracked a smile. “Then it appears we have a deal, Jones,” he turned away, accepting his cane from an offered hand, “take them to the brig!”


	10. 9: Of Rest My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Ady is posting some amaaazing artwork for this chapter on tumblr, go see!  
> In other news, we're almost done! Sad! But the reaction to this story has been beautiful, really, you guys rock. Thank you all.

During her last unexpected venture aboard the _Jolly Roger_ _,_ Emma had stayed sequestered in the Captain’s quarters - isolated, but as comfortable as she could be. Whether from the ire she’d earned in her deception, or simply because Gold had taken offense to her snooping, her accommodations the second time around were unquestionably worse.

The two holding cells were dim, lit by one flickering lantern, and smelled of mildew. With little to no air reaching the lower deck, the heat was stifling. It had taken some coaxing, but she’d managed to get Henry to fall asleep on the only cot in the cell, Killian’s long coat pillowed under his head.

Killian himself prowled the length of the next cage, carving what Emma was sure to be an impressive rut in the floor.

“Do you think he hurt the crew?” Emma whispered, and he stilled at the sound of her voice.

“No,” he slowly crossed the cage to stand at the bars. The clasps of his vest were undone, and he pulled the open neck of his shirt away from his chest, fanning his skin with the thin linen. As a bead of sweat slid down her spine, Emma envied him the ability to shed layers.

“He may be a bastard, but he usually keeps his word, and right now I imagine he is salivating over the idea that he gets to spill my blood to break his curse. He couldn’t be bothered with killing my men.”

“And woman,” Emma added.

“Aye, and Tink,” Killian agreed, his voice low. He smiled slightly, and she felt the hole in her chest gape open just a bit wider.

“What you did today was insane,” she murmured. “He’s not going to let you get by with just a cut on your hand, you know that.”

Killian tipped his head in Henry’s direction. “There’s a bag of gold in the inside breast pocket, Swan. Use it to secure safe passage back home.”

“ _Killian_ _,”_ she protested, and he ducked his head, averting her eyes.

“There’s something I want you to know, Emma,” his voice dropped, rougher, with his lilting accent more pronounced. “I want- I need you to know, I - I did go back for you.” He swallowed, and Emma gripped the bars that stood between them. “Three years after my first deployment, as soon as I was able, I went back to Port Royal to see you. And I did.”

_I did go back for you._

He looked up, his gaze finding hers, and with the earnest misery swirling in his too-blue eyes, she knew he wasn’t telling her a lie.

“Three years after you left,” she echoed, and her heart sank. In one, crushing instant, she knew what he’d found. She’d been quite different from the girl he’d left behind.

“Until just a few days ago, when your boy informed me otherwise, I believed you’d chosen someone else to marry. I thought you were happy, and I didn’t want to interfere, because that’s all I ever wanted, for you to be happy. I assumed you’d forget about me, I _hoped_ _,_ even, after a time...I might not have had a lot of choice in leaving, but you must know, I just wanted to be a better man for you, Swan, but I failed. And because of that, I lost you. I-” he wrapped his fingers around a bar, and black strands fell across his forehead when he tilted his head forward and continued in a harsh, broken whisper, “but after our conversation earlier, I couldn’t stand the thought that you believed I never returned, or that I didn’t care for you.”

Slowly, Emma reached her hand across the space between them, sweeping his hair out of his face and threading her fingers through it. “I kept your mother’s garden alive,” she murmured, and when he lifted his head to look at her, she let her hand fall to his cheek, brushing her palm over the dark scruff on his jaw. “Most of her flowers and yours still thrive. I never forgot about you, Killian,” she admitted, feeling her throat burn as his lips parted in surprise, awe dawning with the comprehension in his eyes as he stared at her, like she was a sunrise after an endless stormy night.

No one else had _ever_ looked at her the way Killian did.

Emma took a step forward, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. She paid no mind to the way his eyebrows rose high on his forehead, or how the bars of the cell pressed against her as she drew him closer and touched her lips to his.

She felt his chest hitch against hers and greedily stole his breath, and after a heartbeat, he responded in kind, his hand finding its way into her hair as his mouth returned the tentative pressure of hers, and for a moment, Emma swore she could feel the sunshine on her face and smell salt on the breeze.

But they were no longer children, meeting in secret, holding hands and trading shy smiles, and they had far too much pain and longing in the small space between them for the careful gap to stay.

Emma felt the weight of his hook at the small of her back as he shuffled her forward, his body lining up against hers as his teeth found her bottom lip, and she slid her fingers back into his hair and pulled, reveling in the sound that caught in his throat, a mixture between a gasp and a growl. His nose brushed against hers as she tilted her head, sweeping her tongue against his lip, demanding _more._

She felt his hand trace her cheek, her jaw, and leaned into the press of his fingers against the back of her neck before beginning an exploration of her own, dragging her nails up the open front of his shirt and tracing the lines of his collarbones while he pressed desperate kisses to her seeking mouth, setting her blood aflame while they traded breaths.

When he pressed his forehead against hers and panted, stirring the hair that framed her face, Emma felt dizzy.

“Emma,” she felt his lips shape her name against her own and looked up to meet his eyes, darker than the sea in a storm. She curled her fingers into his hair and laid her palm over the rapid beat of his heart.

“You don’t have to go with him,” she whispered, nearly stumbling over the words in her haste, “we can find another way.”

Killian offered her the slightest curve of his smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “There’s no other way, love.”

“But what about you? What about…” _the future,_ our _future_ _,_ she thought bitterly, the one they’d never had the chance to start. “I don’t want you to die,” she said, her voice breaking.

His eyes fell closed as he curled his fingers around her hand, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “I’ll just be happy knowing you and Henry will be safe.”

_But you won’t be. That’s not enough for me, not anymore._

She didn’t say the words as she pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him with a fierce desperation, and when she felt the first hot sting of a tear slide down her cheek, scalding her skin, she couldn’t be certain which one of them had been the one to let go first.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Killian spat the words, fighting against the binds that tied his wrists together and the hands that hauled him out onto the deck, out into the burning, midday sun. Gold paid him no mind from where he stood, close to the port side railing, hands clasped over the knob of his cane. Tink cast him a wary glance as they shoved her up onto the plank out over the ocean.

He yanked against the ropes, throwing his shoulder into the nearest pirate, who simply sent him a scowl and tightened their hold, putting a sharp elbow into his ribs for his trouble.

“I’ve got him, Captain.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Killian snarled, “that ought to be enough to deter me from any malfeasance. Crocodile!” he tried to push his way forward, stomach turning over when his eyes found Emma’s in the crowd, where she was tied to Henry and flanked by four of the crew. “You agreed they would not be harmed!”

Gold tilted his head to one side but didn’t turn in his direction. “And they haven’t been,” he agreed, “whether or not they remain that way, however…” he nodded, and Tink was shoved off the plank, her fall to the sea punctuated by a quick scream.

Killian flinched. “This wasn’t part of our deal!” he roared, numb to the sting of sharp fingers that dug into his arms to restrain him.

The corner of Gold’s mouth quirked up into the slightest hint of a smile. “You requested they be allowed to go free, and I’m doing as you asked. You’ll recognize this spit of land, I imagine, as the same island you called home for a short time. Perhaps your companions will manage as miraculous an escape as their Captain once did.”

Scarlet offered Killian a jaunty salute, touching a finger to his brow, before walking off the plank as carelessly as if he stepped into a tavern instead, and Killian felt something heavy sink into his chest, weighing him down far more successfully than any anchor.

He watched the crew push Emma forward, Henry’s cry slicing into his skin and settling into his bones. He saw the trepidation flash across her face before her features settled into a stony mask, trying to hide her fear even as she leaned backwards, shifting her weight closer to the pirates that held her instead of the open waters below. Before he even realized he’d moved, Killian bucked forward, crumpling as Gold’s crew held him back, and he fell to his knees on the deck. He felt a sharp blow to his stomach and doubled over, teeth gritted, but still called out on a hoarse shout, “Emma!”

Her face turned towards his, their eyes meeting, and he saw something spark in her gaze before she started to struggle in earnest, lips pressed in fierce determination.

If she intended to get to him, he thought, then he absolutely would make it easier for her.

He yanked his arms away from his captors and managed to take a step, then another, in Emma’s direction before the crowd caught him. That time he expected the blow, a swift kick to his ribs, but it still stole his breath.

“Enough of this,” Gold snapped, “put the boy in, perhaps she’ll feel more cooperative.”

Emma whirled around, and there was no mistaking the raw fear in her eyes when she watched one of the larger pirates grab Henry around the waist, utterly unfazed by the boy’s kicks. Henry was dropped onto the plank, ceasing his struggles only when a sword pointed at his back.

Killian watched his eyes go wide, and when Henry glanced between him and Emma, biting his lip and looking far younger than his thirteen years, Killian finally understood the meaning behind the idea of _seeing red_.

“No!” he called out, hearing Emma’s protests echo his own, and when Henry was pitched forward by a pair of hands, his shout proceeding his fall by mere seconds, Killian felt like he might well and truly be sick on the deck.

Emma closed her eyes briefly before touching her gaze on him one last time, and with all the regal air of a queen ascending the throne, she stepped onto the plank, white blouse and golden hair billowing in the wind, and walked to the edge without prompting. With her chin held high, Emma Swan leaped into the sea, and without a single thought for bravado, for shame or weakness, Killian Jones let a scream rip from his throat.

* * *

 

The brig was far quieter without Henry’s even breathing and Emma’s whispers against his skin, and that, more than the reality of being locked on his own ship and awaiting certain death, was enough to drive him mad.

He sat with his back against the bars, his leather coat reclaimed, and dug through all the pockets with purpose.

Killian let Emma’s chain, the necklace she’d stolen from him so long ago and kept as a token, slide through his fingers. He slipped the ring onto his thumb and wondered how often Emma had done the same before releasing it. He brushed his palm over the linen he’d snagged from the wastebasket right before the attack, and reminded himself that he still had a plan.

He had a heading, and Emma and Henry were with his crew. They were all clever, and he could comfort himself with the confidence that they’d find a way off the island. Even if he died in the days to come, Emma and her boy would find their way home. They would be safe.

_They had to be._

He pulled his compass from its hiding place, resting the box in his palm and prying the lid open. The needle pointed north, the opposite direction from which they sailed, and he sighed before giving the compass a violent shake.

North.

Killian let his head fall back against the bars and shoved the offending box back into his coat, and wished quite fervently that his flask wasn’t empty.

* * *

* * *

 

Henry was soaked to the skin, his clothes heavy and sopping. The _Jolly Roger_ and the _Snowfall_ were quickly fading from sight, but his mother was beside him, cursing under her breath in a most unladylike fashion as they emerged from the shallows onto sand. They were alive and he’d even managed to lift a knife off the man who’d held him on deck.

He’d learned to take his victories as they came.

Tink hustled forward to greet them, her feet bare in the sand. Scarlet was lying on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes, while Smee paced a rut into the beach, already fretting.

Emma pushed her wet hair off her shoulders, letting out a low, frustrated breath. “Alright. We should fan out, look for food and fresh water-” she broke off as Scarlet snorted under his breath. “What?” she snapped.

“We’re doomed, love. Best start digging our graves now, I imagine. Who wants to go first?”

Tink glared at him, and Henry felt like kicking him in the shin.

“You heard Gold,” Henry protested. “Hook was marooned on this island once, and he managed to escape. We can make a raft, or-”

“You want to know how Captain got off this rock, mate?” Scarlet sat up, sand sticking to his skin, and cast a baleful eye in Henry’s direction. “Come on, then.”

Without another word, he hefted to his feet and turned, walking into the scatter of palm trees.

Henry frowned and shared a quick glance with his mother. Emma shrugged as Smee tugged on his red cap and hurried after his comrade, before falling in behind the two men. Tink huffed out a breath and followed. Henry took off at a run after them, feeling a surge of anticipation.

His boots dragged in the sand. He slowed his steps as he reached his mother’s side, taking in her scowl as Scarlet took broad strides across the small island, slamming his feet down in particular spots. Henry tilted his head to one side, trying to figure out if he had any sort of rhyme or reason to his explorations, or if he’d already gone mad, when Scarlet stepped down with a loud creak.

“Aha! Excellent,” Scarlet announced, brushing sand away and revealing a weathered trap door, before hauling it upwards and reaching inside.

Henry took in the array of dusty glass bottles and raised an eyebrow. Tink let out a loud sigh before dropping to sit on the ground.

Scarlet turned back around and waltzed over to Emma, an open bottle in each hand, and held one out for her to appraise.

Henry watched as his mother gave the pirate a distinctly unimpressed look before raising the bottle to her nose and taking a delicate sniff.

“Rum,” Emma said, her eyes narrowing. “This is what you wanted us to see? A bunch of old bottles of _rum_?”

Scarlet shot her a wink before tipping his bottle back against his lips. “There’s more than enough to go around.”

Henry scowled. “I thought you were going to show us how Hook escaped!”

“Look around, lad,” Scarlet scoffed. “This _is_ how your best mate escaped. Rum runners.”

“You’re telling me that Killian lazed about, drinking himself stupid, until a bunch of smugglers found him?” Emma demanded, her voice rising.

“I imagine he had a rather great time of it, too,” Scarlet added. “But unfortunately, it seems it was a one-way trip. This cache looks abandoned, and I imagine we have your lot to thank for it.” He reached back in and handed a bottle to Smee, who accepted with a rather forlorn expression.

“So that’s it?” Emma snapped. “You intend to drink yourself to death?”

“Cheers, love,” Scarlet pronounced, before promptly turning his bottle up again and taking a hearty swallow.

Henry’s shoulders slumped.

His mother hissed through her teeth before turning, her hair whipping out behind her. She dropped a hand on his shoulder before pulling him to her side. “We’re going to get out of here,” she insisted.

Henry turned his face up to hers and chewed on his lower lip. Her expression did not scream confidence.

“Yeah,” he agreed, scanning their surroundings. “Well we got here pretty quickly, right? We must not be too far off the trade route. And...you know, Grandpa and Walsh were planning on looking for you.” He felt a smile bloom across his cheeks, and started speaking faster. “They were probably only a few days behind us at most. They’re out there somewhere.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the sea.

“All we have to do is get their attention,” Emma murmured, her smile stretching out to match his. “Henry, you’re a genius!”

He straightened his shoulders and beamed.

 

The evening passed in a far more pleasant fashion, once the sun set and the stifling heat dissipated. Henry watched with thinly veiled fascination as Tink used his stolen knife to light a campfire - as if by magic, he was certain - before she dropped him a wink and went to sit in the sand beside his mother, blonde heads bent close with conspiratorial whispers. Henry began a short trek up and down the beach, dragging shed fronds and brush towards the campfire with ever pass. He only took a break when Smee and Scarlet began to circle the fire arm in arm, singing sea shanties in slurred voices, their songs telling tales of treasure and women of loose morals.

When the two pirates finally sank into the sand, pissed beyond measure, Henry, Emma, and Tink went back to the cache.

By the time the sun rose over the water, they had a signal fire burning, black smoke pillars billowing into the sky. Henry stood at the shore with squinting eyes, his hand to his brow to block the dawn, and smiled.

He could already see white sails on the horizon.

* * *

* * *

 

_Killian slipped a piece of parchment into Ruby’s hand, pressed a grateful kiss against the apple of her cheek. She offered a rather salacious wink before turning on her heel and skipping up the path, out of his sight._

_He turned away from the door, his lingering smile fading away when he heard Master Brown let out a disdainful snort._

_“Finally give up on the little blonde bint, aye? Realized that maid is a little more receptive, ain’t she?”_

_Killian felt the tips of his ears burn with heat, his fingers clench into fists. “I’ll thank you not to speak of the Lady Swan and Miss Lucas that way,” he said tightly, teeth gritted. “If you must know, Ruby is simply delivering a note.”_

_Brown threw back his head and laughed, a harsh barking sound. “I guess not. You never did have brains in your head, did you, boy? Things might be well and good now, but do you truly think you’ll be good enough for that girl?”_

_“I-” Killian started, only to have his mentor sneer._

_“You’re an orphan from the wrong side of town. You think the Governor’s going to let a blacksmith marry his daughter?” He laughed again._

_Killian ducked his head, cheeks burning, but he didn’t know whether it was from fury or shame._

_“You mark my words, boy. A wastrel like you will never be enough for a girl like her. You’re nothing, and in time, you’ll see that I’m right.”_

_Killian turned on his heel and left._

 

_He pushed his way into the back door of the house, his expression stony and lips pressed in a tight line, and was momentarily disappointed to find Liam at the fire. Killian felt all the more worse for his knee-jerk reaction to not being alone when his brother turned to him with a smile._

_“Killian! Right on time. Wash up for dinner, little brother.” Liam hummed._

_“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Killian grumbled, feeling his gloom dissipate slightly as his brother’s broad grin._

_“I’ve good news,” Liam replied, removing his pot from the fire. “I can get you out of the forge and away from the bastard Brown at last.”_

_Killian perked up, shoulders straightening. “How?”_

_Liam beamed. “I’ve secured you a commission, Killian. You can sail with me when I deploy next month.”_

_Killian froze, and slowly the smile slid from Liam’s face as he strode across the floor. Killian felt the weight of his brother’s hand fall onto his shoulder. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased,” Liam’s brow furrowed. “You used to speak of joining the Navy with me, I thought-”_

_“I did,” Killian swallowed, “I just...we’re leaving?”_

_“Aye, little brother,” Liam tried for another smile, confidence clearly wavering, “at the turn of the season. We’ll be aboard the_ Jewel _, I’m to be her lieutenant.” He pulled something from his pocket, a folded parchment, and pressed it into Killian’s palm._

_Slowly, he unfolded it, eyes scanning words that, once, would have brought him joy. Instead, he felt dread hollow him out._

A Naval commission for one Killian Jones.

_Liam put his other hand on his shoulder. “This is good, Killian. We’ll be doing something good. We’ll bring honor to our name.”_

_“But what about Emma?” Killian murmured, and finally, Liam’s smile softened, understanding dawning in his eyes._

_“Ah, I should have known.” Liam rapped his knuckles on the underside of Killian’s chin, drawing his little brother’s eyes up. “She’ll be proud of you.”_

You’re nothing.

_Killian shook his head slowly. “What am I going to tell her? How long will we be gone?”_

_Liam met his gaze, his own expression thoughtful. “Tell her that you’ll always come back. That you’re going to fight for your home, so that when you return to ask her father for her hand, he’ll be honored to give it to you.”_

In time, you’ll see that I’m right.

_Killian offered his brother a shaky smile, and wished fervently for even half of his optimism._


	11. 10: Line the Shore

In all her thirty years, Emma had never been more relieved to see a ship belonging to Port Royal’s navy.

She’d clung to her father when he’d stumbled out of the rowboat and into the shallows. She felt his hand come up to cup the back of her head like he’d used to when she was a small child, and when she felt both of their shoulders shaking, she couldn’t be certain who was the more relieved.

She’d absolutely cried, though only a little.

Emma stood on deck, a blanket wrapping her shoulders, with her son and what remained of Killian’s crew when her father walked up to Walsh and told him to head home.

Henry went rigid beside her. “No!”

David turned, his mouth turning down into a frown. “Henry, what-”

Henry tossed his blanket aside. “We have to go to Isle de Muerta to save Hook!”

While her father simply looked stunned, Walsh threw back his head and laughed. Emma narrowed her eyes.

“You’re mad, boy,” Walsh waved a hand, a clear dismissal. “Piracy aside, the bastard stole a Navy ship, with _your_ help, if my reports are correct. If I had my way, you’d be whipped, at the very least-”

Emma hissed, speaking up as hastily as her father.

“You’ll not lay a hand on my son! He was trying to save my life.”

“ _Commodore_. Henry will not be punished!”

Walsh pressed his lips into a firm line. “As you say. But we will not be _rescuing_ any pirates today. I only regret not being able to see him hang for myself.”

Henry sputtered, his hand falling to his belt as though searching for his absent sword. Emma turned, her fingers closing around her father’s collar as she rose to her toes. “Please, papa. He was only trying to save me from Gold, he’s going to kill him. He deserves-”

“Emma,” David scolded, dropping his voice. “We cannot risk the lives of everyone on this ship for that of a _pirate_.”

“It’s Killian,” Emma breathed, her fingers tightening as her plea turned desperate, a whisper only he could hear. “Please, papa, it’s _Killian_.”

She could see the shock rise up and give way to indecision, a fleeting crease in her father’s brow. Emma knew that look well - propriety warring with the desire to give her what she wanted, but she saw the moment the conflict died. She sank to the flats of her feet, feeling a hole gape open in her stomach as hopelessness hollowed her out.

“I’m sorry, Emma, truly. But your safety is more important, and he made his choices long ago.”

Emma pulled away, her arm circling Henry’s shoulders. She tugged him back as he continued to voice his protests, bold and heated.

She caught the edge of Walsh’s smirk, and her hands curled into fists.

“If I may,” Scarlet spoke up from behind her, slowly rising to his feet as Emma whirled around.

“You may _not_.” Walsh snapped.

“Ah, well. I thought you Navy gents were the decent sort? I only figured you’d like to know,” he cast a sideways glance at Emma, “that Captain Gold has the _Snowfall_. I hear tell that’s your flagship, is it not?”

Emma watched as Walsh’s jaw twitched. “It is.”

“Dream with me a moment,” Scarlet spread his hands wide. “You sail to Isle de Muerta, reclaim your commandeered vessel. _You_ wipe out the most notorious band of pirates left in the Caribbean. Gold hangs in Port Royal. You go from Commodore to _Admiral_.” His eyebrows waggled in an absurd dance, but Emma couldn’t argue that he’d captured both her father and Walsh’s attention effectively.

“All you have to do is set your course, mate.” Scarlet finished with a lofty grin.

Walsh stared at him, eyes narrowed, but didn’t argue.

Emma felt her mouth snap open, and hastily closed it. Even Henry was silent, brown eyes flickering between the two as the standoff continued.

Walsh spun around on his heel, stalking towards the helm. “We have a new heading.”

“Commodore!” David sputtered.

Emma bit down on her lip to hide her smile, and glanced at Scarlet. He shot her a wink.

“How did you know that would work?” she whispered, and his smile turned quite sad.

“Way I see it, men are motivated by one of three things - greed, glory, or love. That tosser certainly doesn’t chase the last.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Do you think he’ll still be...do you think we’ll make it in time?”

“I wouldn’t count our captain out just yet, love. He’s a survivor, that one.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Killian laid with his back pressed into the wooden floor of the brig, his head pillowed on his coat. He’d gone numb hours before to the ache in his ribs from plentiful blows the crew had reveled in raining on him, and to the warm throbbing in his face from a fist that had succeeded in busting his lip. He tasted salt and iron and as he stared up at the deck above, soothed by the rocking of the ship at his back, he wondered if death would be kind.

He’d lived long enough, surely. He’d made his amends with Emma, knew the truth about his brother’s murder. He’d done a great many horrible things but, in the end, he’d reunited a child with his mother and sacrificed his life to save those he cared for, and not all could claim as such.

Perhaps Killian Jones could die a man of honor, after all.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door creak open, loud footfalls crossing the room.

“Get up.”

Killian sighed. “Oh, have we arrived so soon? I thought surely-”

Pain laced through his fingers as a booted foot came down on top of his hand. Killian gritted his teeth and kept his wounded grunt trapped inside.

“On your feet!” Gold’s crewman snapped before stepping away.

Killian flexed his fingers a couple times before grabbing his coat and slowly rising, shrugging into heavy leather sleeves. He dropped his hand into his pocket briefly before nodding. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

He squinted into the wash of light as they emerged on deck. The trip from ship to beach gave way to jungle, and it passed like a dream - he could remember the gradual stiffening in his spine as sand shifted into shed fronds, fear mounting with every beat of his blood as each step took him closer to his grave, but as he reached the mouth of the cave, he could not much remember the journey he’d taken to get there.

The cavern felt much the same as it had before, Killian noticed, grimacing as he stepped foot into the darkness. The air was heavy and damp. It reeked of stale death and he wondered if falling into the maw of a sea monster would feel much different. He slowed his steps, only to be jerked forward.

“Not long now,” Gold promised, his golden tooth winking in the torchlight as he grinned, and Killian felt real fear race down his spine.

“Excellent,” he snapped, “if I’m to die, I’d rather not waste any time.”

“A fine philosophy.” Gold looked up as the cavern opened wide overhead, but any joviality in his face died away. Killian could easily guess as to why.

The smell of blood was heavy in the air, and even though he was certain they’d laid Neal’s body to rest, the stench of his death pervaded.

A hand planted between his shoulder blades and pushed, but Killian managed to keep his footing as they shoved him towards the center, to a circle of stones and dark pool.

Gold stepped up to stand before him, and Killian felt his hand start to shake. He breathed in and out through his mouth and looked down before speaking. “Rather dreary, isn’t it? I must say, you did a piss poor job redecorating.”

He was rewarded with a flash of the Crocodile’s eyes. “Tell me Captain, do you think it’ll hurt quite as horribly when I take your other hand, or will you be more accustomed to the loss of appendage the second time around?”

Killian met his cruel stare with his own eyes narrowed and spat down at the other man’s feet. “Go on, do your worst.”

Gold took an ungainly step forward and yanked the dagger from its home on Killian’s belt. Gold grasped Killian’s arm in cold, dead fingers.  “I think I’ll borrow this for the job. It’s almost poetic, don’t you agree?” He ran the tip of the blade across Killian’s wrist, lightly at first, holding on more tightly when Killian tried to jerk away.

Killian bristled, but any response he might have lashed back with was drowned out by a shout from the cave’s entrance.

“Captain! Wait!”

Gold lowered the dagger, eyes flicking between Killian and his crewman. Killian dropped his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around his father’s ring.

“Speak!” Gold snarled. Killian could see the crewman shrink back into the shadows.

“There’s white sails on the horizon, sir! The Royal Navy approaches!”

Killian froze. The metal chain dangled from his fingers over the small pile of treasure that rose from the water.

Gold pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking, but he didn’t appear surprised. “Well, Jones, I’m afraid you won’t get your wish. It looks as if we’ll have to waste time after all.” He looked back to his men and brandished the dagger out over the crowd, raising his voice over the din. “Go! Be ready to meet them!”

* * *

* * *

 

Henry stumbled slightly as hands pressed against his back, forcing him into the captain’s cabin. He spun around in time to see the door snap shut behind them, and watched with a sinking heart as his mother flung herself against it, her fingers balled into fists as she slammed them into the wood.

“You can’t just lock us up in here!” Emma shouted, giving one last fruitless pound to the door before turning around with an angry huff of breath. She pushed her hair out of her face, eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face Scarlet.

He sat with his feet propped up on the desk in front of him, turning up his flask to catch any last drops.

“Was this part of your brilliant plan, then?” She demanded. “They’re going to march in there and kill everyone, _especially_ Killian, or they’re all going to be slaughtered by a band of undead pirates.”

Scarlet sighed and tossed his flask aside. “I wouldn’t call it a plan, necessarily. But we’re in the right place, yeah? Can’t save Cap from halfway to Port Royal.”

Henry sank down onto the leather settee next to Tink, who stared angrily out the window. “We can’t save him locked in here, either,” he argued, his voice sour.

His mother glanced his way, a frown pulling at the edges of her mouth. “Then I guess we’d better find a way out.”

Without another word she crossed the cabin, putting a firm hand on Scarlet’s shoulder before unceremoniously shoving him out of her way.

“Oi! Bloody hell, woman-”

“Shut it,” Emma snapped, her eyes on the window hatch behind him. Henry cracked a smile and got to his feet, rushing over to help her.

“Are we gonna jump? How will we get to shore? Where will we find weap-what?” Henry broke off when she started shaking her head.

“There’s a lifeboat under this hatch,” Emma started, biting her lower lip. “But you’re staying here.”

“What? No!” Henry protested. “We just got you back! You can’t go alone, and besides, I can fight!”

“The boy’s a pirate now, love. Best face it.” Scarlet added from the floor, shrugging when Emma turned on him with a scowl.

“I helped find you, Mom. It was _my_ idea. I can do this. Let me help find Killian,” he pleaded, his voice serious. “Besides, if you leave me here, I’ll just follow you.”

She stared at him, conflict clear in her face. “It’s not going to be safe out there, Henry-”

“None of it has been _safe_ !” Henry snapped. “We haven’t been safe since the _Jolly Roger_ came to Port Royal.”

“He’s right, Emma,” Tink spoke up, her voice gentle. “There’s no way to tell what danger he might be in if he stays behind. Our best bet is to stick together.”

Henry thought his mother might protest again, but she simply took his face in her hands, anguish in her own. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her voice was rough when she spoke. “You stay right by me, Henry, do you understand? You don’t leave my side, for _anything_. I can’t lose you too.”

Henry wrapped his fingers around her wrists, unable to stop his grin. “You won’t.”

Emma let out a heavy breath. “Let’s get going, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading. Check out Ady's art on tumblr - @prongsie.


	12. 11: Sunk are the Turrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I almost forgot to post today because we had a complete disaster with our dryer this morning. BUT I remembered that it was Sunday in the nick of time, and here we are. Thanks as always to the CSBB crowd and to my beta and artist for their wonderful help/contributions, and to you guys for sticking around with this whirlwind.

Killian slipped the ring back into his coat and wondered if he simply imagined that it felt far heavier than it did before, weighing his shoulders down and pulling him towards the earth. Gold paced the length of the pool, his wooden leg giving off an echoing _thunk_ with every other step.

Killian ran numb fingers over the cloth in his pocket. He mused over how quickly Gold might manage to kill him if he made a move towards one of the rusty swords that littered the ground. He decided he might just stand a chance when he heard a clash of metal at the cave’s entrance, followed by raised voices.

Gold looked over as well, a wicked smile slowly curling the corner of his mouth. “Well, it appears I was correct about our dear Miss Swan, after all.”

Killian took a quick, shallow breath. “No,” he started, his gaze darting around the dim cavern for any sign of golden hair. “No, she wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t come back for you?” Gold snickered, a high pitched harsh sound. “Of course she would. How else would I get to that son of yours?”

A chill raced down his spine. Killian’s eyes flicked back to Gold, narrowing to slits. “What?”

“I’m afraid I did realize it a little too late, after we’d already put them off the ship. But love is love, Hook, and I know well what it drives fools to do. You agreed a little too easily to come with me, to _die_ in exchange for their freedom, and it was all the better that you knew I wouldn’t be able to break the curse regardless. I had a feeling Miss Swan would be so _inspired_ by your heroic sacrifice that she couldn’t simply leave you behind. I must say, the three of you made the picture of a sweet little family.”

Killian’s fingers twitched, aching to reach for a blade and strike, consequences be damned. “That’s quite a story you’ve come up with. You’re just a bit off on the details, however.”

“Spare me your lies. I know I need his blood to break the curse.” Gold turned to the mouth of the cavern once more, and broke into a grin. “Why, I was hoping you’d be kind enough to join us!”

Killian’s stomach dropped as he followed Gold’s gaze and saw Emma and Henry, swords in their hands.

He knew the moment her eyes found him when her face lit up. Henry grinned, shouting, “Hook!”

“Emma, Henry, get out of here!” Killian yelled, before rounding on Gold. “You’ve already sacrificed your son,” Killian’s voice was lower and had turned desperate. “What do you think Neal would say if you did the same to his?”

Gold’s spine went rigid, something unreadable flashing across his face, before grim determination settled in. He shoved the dagger back into his belt.

Henry had started moving towards them, picking his way over the stones. Killian heard Emma shout her son’s name, saw Gold’s hand drop to the pistol on his belt.

“I did kill my boy,” Gold whispered, a manic look lighting up in his eyes. “Do you truly think I won’t do what needs to be done now, to make his sacrifice worth it?”

“Henry!” Emma’s scream echoed through the cave as Gold’s arm lifted, taking aim.

Henry was close enough for Killian to see his startled expression. He saw the determination melt, giving way to fear in the boy's eyes.

Killian didn’t have to think twice before he moved, and when the shot rang out, drowning Emma’s voice, he knew he wouldn’t feel it when the bullet hit him instead.

* * *

* * *

 

The crack of the gunshot was deafening, and Emma swore her heart stopped.

But where she thought she’d see her son on the ground, she saw Killian standing in front of him instead, and felt another scream rip from her already ragged throat.

He didn’t fall so much as stagger backwards with the force, leaning against Henry, who’d thrown his arms out to catch him.

She lifted her sword and took several steps closer in time to see Killian press something into her son’s hand, to watch a whisper pass between them, two dark heads bent close.

Her heartbeat sped up, as bewilderment battled with her fear. Gold’s expression looked much the same as she imagined her own did. Before she could get a word out, Henry nodded and darted away, unharmed, and Killian stood under his own power. He raised his arm up, and as Emma tentatively drew closer, she could see the bullet hole in his shoulder, torn and ragged flesh, but no blood seeped from the wound.

“What have you _done_?” Gold sputtered, his empty hand falling to the sword at his belt.

Emma gripped Killian’s arm. He lifted his fingers to touch hers briefly, keeping himself in between her and Gold, but didn’t take his eyes off the latter. His mouth curled into a broad, toothy grin, and he carefully knelt, closing his fingers around the handle of a sword and took a step forward. “You talk about this curse of yours so much, I thought I might join in, see what all the fuss is about.”

“ _Killian_ ,” Emma hissed, her voice equally incredulous and admonishing.

“Trust me, love,” he quipped back, raising his blade to meet Gold’s angry slash. “What do you say, Swan? Care to see if any of those sword lessons did any good?”

Emma scowled as she stepped forward, raising her own sword, and leapt into the fray.

* * *

* * *

 

 

Henry darted among the rocks, careful to keep his footing on the slippery surface. He tuned out the sound of swords clanging and ducked behind a stalagmite, his chest heaving as he opened his hand and looked down at what Killian had pressed into his palm before telling him to run.

The signet ring his mother had always worn and a brown crusted bandage, stained with old blood and inexplicably streaked with fresh crimson.

Henry fought the urge to drop it, his face twisting in disgust, before he curled his fingers back into a fist and glanced back at the fight.

His mother and Killian were keeping Gold busy, he noticed, with no small amount of pride. He watched as they pushed him back, away from the water.

That was his goal, he knew. To get to the water and wait for the right moment.

He did not intend to let them down.

* * *

* * *

 

His arm was slowing him down.

Killian might not have felt the pain of the bullet buried in his muscle, but he noticed the weakness in his shoulder as he swung, trying to keep Gold’s focus on himself while Emma darted around and did damage.

Gold spun around with a growl and struck once, twice, and Killian’s sword clattered to the ground. He saw the Crocodile’s smile, all broad and stained teeth, and when his blade touched Killian’s wounded shoulder, he feared they might actually lose.

With his free hand, Gold reclaimed his gun from its holster. He leveled his aim at Emma, and all movement halted.

Emma was frozen, eyes wide when they found Killian’s, and he couldn’t quite draw breath.

“You might not be able to die,” Gold spat, his thumb pulling back the hammer on the pistol, “but she can.”

“Hey!”

At another time, Killian might have found it comical, how quickly Gold turned his head to find the source of Henry’s shout. Killian watched as Henry threw the bandage soaked with both of their blood into the water with his father’s signet ring, creating the smallest splash. Gold lifted an eyebrow, something like curiosity crossing his face, but it was all the time Killian and Emma needed.

She darted forward, snatching the gun from his hand, and Killian yanked the dagger that had ended his brother’s life from Gold’s belt, and plunged it into the Crocodile’s restarted heart.


	13. 12: The Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it, the last chapter before the epilogue. You guys have no idea how much every comment, kudos, and hit on this story means to me. I appreciate every single one of you so much for reading this little self-indulgent story of mine, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing. Thank you to CSBB and my beta and Ady for the art. Enjoy!

Light filtered through the trees from the full moon overhead. Emma could hear the crunch of dead brush underfoot as they picked their way carefully through the jungle and back towards the shore. Killian had one arm slung over her shoulders, the other over Henry’s. She could hear Killian’s breath let out in a hiss every time his arm stretched, and could feel his warm, sticky blood seeping through her shirt to stain her skin, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Every frantic beat of her heart and his reminded her that they were  _ alive _ , all three of them, and the nightmare might just be over. 

As they reached the sand, Henry helped her lower Killian to rest his back against a rock.

“We need to wrap your shoulder,” Emma told him, offering a small smile. Henry pulled his sword free and climbed over the rocks to keep watch. 

“Are you to be my nursemaid, then?” Killian asked, and though his voice was rough, his eyebrows danced wickedly. 

Emma swatted at him and pulled her stolen kitchen knife from her belt, unable to stop her smile. She carefully sliced away one of her sleeves before scooting closer, meeting his eyes for a moment before peeling his torn shirt away from his wound and examining it with a grimace.

“You’re lucky,” she commented, eyebrows furrowing as she wrapped the cloth around the angry flesh as gently as she could. “This could have been much worse.” 

She stilled when she felt the featherlight press of his thumb against her brow, smoothing out the crease in her forehead before he pulled his hand back. She tied off the strip and found him still watching her, with a softness in his eyes that made her heart ache. 

“I don’t suppose I got around to thanking you, did I?” He asked. 

Emma swallowed. “No,” she answered, “but you did shout about it.” 

He smiled, lines fanning the corners of his eyes. “Well, Swan. it would seem that we’re even. If I might request that neither of us gets  abducted and dragged back to this hellish rock any time in the future, that would be -” 

“Captain!” 

They both turned their heads at Scarlet’s shout. Emma shifted back slightly when Henry clambered over the rocks to join them, the pirate following on his heels. 

“You’re alive! Of course you are, you bloody immortal bastard,” Scarlet muttered, clapping a hand down on Killian’s uninjured shoulder. “We ran off Gold’s rats. Smee, Tink, and the rest are getting the  _ Roger  _ ready to set sail. Her lot-” he tilted his head in Emma’s direction “-have just about finished off the last of them. We’d do well to get clear before that Commodore realizes we’ve gone.” 

Emma felt a gaping pit open up in her stomach, and immediately felt all the more foolish for it. 

Killian looked startled. “I-” 

“He’s right,” Emma whispered, catching Killian’s hand in hers as he reached for her. His mouth turned down into a frown. 

“You have to go, now,” she continued, locking her fingers between his. Her eyes burned at the flicker of anguish in his expression. 

“ _ Emma _ , no-” he ground out, going still when she pressed a finger to his lips.

“He’ll see you executed, Killian,” she said, her voice soft. Emma saw Henry turn his back on them, his thin shoulders shaking, and her breath hitched in her chest. “Even if I could convince my father to help us, you would be dead the moment you set foot on his ship, and Walsh would  _ revel  _ in it. You have to go.” Her voice broke.

Killian was staring at her, his chest heaving. Even Scarlet was silent.

“You know I’m right,” Emma breathed out shakily, and Killian pressed her hand to his lips, shutting his eyes. He released her fingers only to tangle his own in her hair, and pulled her in close. He touched his lips to hers softly, a mere whisper, before claiming her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless. 

He tilted his forehead against hers, and she felt him nod slightly before he pulled away. 

Emma clung to the front of his tattered shirt and felt tears finally spill down her cheeks. 

Scarlet stayed quiet as he slipped a hand under Killian’s arm and helped him stagger to his feet. Emma rose with him before slowly releasing her hold, one finger at a time. 

Killian touched his hand to her shoulder before stepping across the sand to Henry, and pulled the boy into a tight hug. 

Emma watched Henry lean into him and cling like a burr, his arms wrapping around Killian’s middle. She turned away, feeling a weight settle in her chest, and looked up at Scarlet. “Killian needs a doctor as soon as you can find a safe place,” she murmured. 

“We know where to go, Emma. Don’t you worry about that.” 

There was a soft, sad sympathy in his voice that she couldn’t quite handle. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinched at the skin over her ribs until her eyes blurred, and then she blinked the tears away stubbornly. 

Killian walked back over with Henry tucked against his side. “You and your mother look out for each other, aye lad?” Emma heard his low rumble, saw her son’s firm nod in agreement, and closed her eyes for a moment. 

“We’ll stall as long as we can,” Emma started, avoiding Killian’s eyes as they settled on her. “So you can get away safely.” 

Killian gave Henry one last squeeze before passing him over. He reached out and caught Emma’s hand, and she let out a low breath as he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “There’s not a day will go that I won’t think of you, Emma. There never has been.” 

She felt Henry take her other hand. Her fingers burned with the ghost of Killian’s kiss as he released her. She watched him walk away, Scarlet at his side, as the stars winked at them overhead. 

She could feel the ache in her chest, fault lines in her heart opening back up and leaving canyons in their wake, and she thought back to the girl on the hill. She wondered how many times she was doomed to lose the man she loved to the sea, and how many times he’d wash back in with the tides before the ocean finally swallowed him whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It came out shorter than I'd imagined, but this seemed like the best place to cut it. Thanks for reading, and I'll catch you next week for the end! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, much love!


	14. Epilogue: On the Distant Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it, the very last chapter. Thank you so much to all of you guys for reading, commenting, kudos, anything. Thank you to huffleporg for being the best beta, to Ady for the amazing art on tumblr, and to the CSBB crew for running this event. It's been an awesome ride, and I hope you guys enjoy this last bit.

 

* * *

 

Emma did not like the idea of pining for something she could not have.

Certainly, she’d spent years _hoping_ that Killian Jones might return home, and mourned him when she’d believed it impossible, but _pining_ or _yearning_ was not something she considered worth her time.

Her feet carried her to the cliff side of the highest hill in Port Royal, all the same.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, oranges and reds bleeding into the ocean and for a moment, Emma couldn’t decide whether she spent so much time watching the sun because it was her favorite view, or because it wasn’t.

The grass tickled the soles of her feet, her white skirt swirling around her legs in the breeze, and as she pushed her loose hair out of her face and over her shoulder something caught her eye.

Dark sails on the horizon.

She brought her hand up to her brow to shield her eyes, and when she squinted, she felt her heart speed up.

She’d know the _Jolly Roger_ anywhere, she was certain, but what she didn’t understand was why it was sailing _away_ from the cove.

She felt her knees tremble, a confusing toil of disappointment and longing turning her stomach, and tried to convince herself that it _was_ better if Killian stayed away.

Though Emma would forever be bitter over the moment she’d boarded her father’s ships and left Isle de Muerta behind to learn that Commodore Walsh had died in the battle with Gold’s pirates, and she’d sent Killian away for nothing, she’d spent the weeks since telling herself that there were plenty of remaining officers who would be more than happy to hang a pirate.

Still, she felt her throat burn with the reminder of how much she missed him.

“Swan?”

Emma felt her breath hitch. She heard footsteps behind her and closed her eyes, before slowly turning her back on the sky.

He paused on the path, no more than ten feet away, and gazed up at her with a soft smile and a warmth in his eyes that suggested the sight of her rivaled the view that lay beyond.

Emma stared back, unable to force words through the thickness in her throat.

Killian’s mouth twitched, but he bit his lower lip to fight his grin. His long black coat was gone, leaving him in only his leathers, a dark shirt and a muted blue vest she’d never seen. It brightened the color of his eyes.

He took a small step towards her, waving his hand as he spoke. “You know, Swan, it wasn’t but a few moments after we sailed away that I remembered something my brother once told me.” His tone was calm, conversational, but Emma couldn’t feel her limbs.

“I was still fresh in the Navy, cleaning the deck and feeling quite unhappy about it, much to Liam’s amusement,” she saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but his smile remained unwavering. “He squatted down next to me and said, ‘little brother, we’re here to make something of ourselves. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets, and I think we deserve more, don’t you agree?’”

He took a step closer. “I realized, Emma, that had I fought for you even once thirteen years ago, our lives would have turned out quite different. I toyed with the idea of following you right then, consequences be damned, but it turns out Tink and Scarlet are quite the stubborn nurses.” Killian smiled. “I even tried to convince myself to go about my life as I had before, but when I checked my compass, the one Liam gave me so long ago, it told me what I already knew.”

Killian reached out, his fingers trailing along her cheek before tucking a curl behind her ear and letting his hand linger. Emma wasn’t certain whether or not she was still breathing.

It didn’t seem to deter him. “I had my ship back, love, but it appeared all I ever wanted was you.”

She let out a sigh, resting her cheek against his palm. “Killian, if you’re caught here-”

His smile brightened. “You don’t have to worry about me, Emma. I made my choice, you see, and we dropped anchor in the cove this morning. I told Smee and the rest that if I wasn’t back by sundown, I wasn’t coming back - whether I was with you, or the executioner - and I went to see your father.”

“My father?” Emma hissed. She caught the flash of his dimple when he grinned.

“Aye, allow me to finish. I went to see your father and told him the tragic story of how Lieutenant Jones became Captain Hook, and how loving the governor’s daughter - and grandson- had helped him reclaim his honor.”

His eyes gleamed, and Emma felt her heart melt.

“You love us?” she whispered, and Killian leaned in. When she felt the warm touch of his forehead against hers, she let her eyes fall closed.

“I do,” his voice was low, his accent rougher around the edges. “I know we face an uncertain future, but there’s one thing I want you to be certain of - that I will always, _always_ fight to be by your side.”

Emma felt no shame in the tear that slid down her cheek, warm as summer rain, and twisted her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Killian met her halfway, his lips pressing against hers in a sweet touch before curling his hand in her hair and melting into her.

The sun drowned in the sky behind them, falling away in a spectacular burst of color, but all Emma saw was blue.

“Your father told me that while Captain Hook would not be welcome in Port Royal, perhaps Killian Jones could finally return home.”

Emma felt his words in his breath against her face,  and couldn’t help the small laugh bubbling in her chest. “I imagine you’ll have to lose the hook.”

He shrugged, his lips brushing hers. “David has been kind enough to requisition a prosthetic.”

“You must have charmed him, then,” Emma commented, one eyebrow raised, and her face split into a grin when his left arm slipped around her waist, drawing her body up against his.

He smiled into her cheek. “He also told me that a stubborn lass fought quite viciously to keep my family’s house from being sold.”

Emma shrugged. “Someone had to protect your mother’s garden, and make sure your home was right where you left it.”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” he murmured, his nose nudging hers before he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “Thank you, Emma.”

Emma swayed into him, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “Now what?”

Killian made a show of looking out at the water before nodding towards the path that led them down the hill. “I don’t see that boy of yours. Let’s go find him and figure that part out.”

Emma laced her fingers through his and tugged, casting one last look at the sky behind her and smiling at the stars as they emerged. She decided it might just be one of her favorite views after all.


End file.
